


The New Trio and the Philosopher's Stone

by MaraRiall



Series: It Begins and Ends With Love [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU: Wolfstar raise Harry, All relationship tags are friendships for now, Awesome new trio: Harry & Draco & Neville, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Dumbledore Bashing, F/F, F/M, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Harry is Heir Black, Harry is Heir Peverell, Harry is Heir Potter, Harry is Heir Slytherin, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Multi, Neville is Heir Gryffindor, Neville is Heir Longbottom, Powerful Harry, and Hermione tags along, and Narcissa/Severus is in its infancy, basically new marauders but no one's Peter, except Remus/Sirius, gryffindor!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraRiall/pseuds/MaraRiall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After successfully managing to gain custody of Harry, Remus and Sirius have raised Harry well. He knows that he's loved, and well-treated, and he's friends with Ron and Neville. However, a visit to Gringotts on Harry's tenth birthday to get him confirmed as the heir to the Potter and Black Houses proves that Dumbledore has done something awful to Harry, and they realise they must remain cautious of him.<br/>This leads us to Harry's very well-known first year at Hogwarts, but this time with Draco, Neville, and Hermione by his side.<br/>~~~~~~~~~~~<br/>Just a note: Most of the relationships will start to happen in the third book. It's my plan to work through all the canon books. This first one starts out echoing canon very closely, but will become quite AU after the first few books.<br/>Also, I'm cross-posting this on Wattpad under the username Dazla98, because why not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All these characters, books, and storylines belong to JK Rowling. I am simply one die hard fan amongst millions, and if her lawyers come to check this story out first, I am flattered, but kindly ask for them to check out other fanfics on this website first, since there are some that echo canon even more closely than my meagre little ideas.
> 
> Well, now that that's out of the way, I'd like to introduce you to my idea of canon reimagined. I'm Mara, and I'll be your author for this fanfic. Hope you enjoy!

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, would have been quite happy to demonstrate their magical prowess to anyone who asked… or rather, Sirius would have been happy to do so; Remus would probably just have mumbled something vaguely offensive under his breath. The Bonded pair were quite different from each other, with Sirius being a high-ranked Auror and member of the Wizengamot, and Remus forever being in between jobs due to his unhappy state as a werewolf, but they managed quite well together. If you’d known Sirius during his Hogwarts days, you’d know that he was the first person one would expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, and he would often go out of his way to remind everyone of that fact.

However, on the morning of the first of November, 1981, the couple could not be found cooking up a storm and relaxing at the huge dining table, as was normal for them to do on any other Sunday. Instead, Sirius could be found in the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts, arguing furiously with a tall, thin, and very old man wearing long robes, a deep purple cloak, and half-moon glasses which focussed his sparkling, light blue eyes. Sirius had been arguing with the Headmaster for the past hour, trying to convince him to let him retain his rightful position as godfather to his best friend’s son, and take him on as a ward.

“Dumbledore, please… don’t you understand? I’ve heard so many atrocious things from Lily about her sister alone, and nothing could make me believe that Petunia _Dursley_ is in any way more fit to raise Harry than Petunia Evans might have been! I remember when Lily found out her sister had gotten married without telling her, and Lily visited them when they got back from their honeymoon. She told all of us about that… that _walrus_ of a man Petunia had married, and how he was every bit as horrible as she was!” Sirius shouted.

Dumbledore, however, didn’t seem very frightened of the highly irritated, very powerful wizard pacing back and forth in front of him, wearing a hole in the carpet. “My dear boy, I understand that the Dursleys may be slightly unpleasant, but Harry is their _nephew_ , and I have every belief that—”

“Oh, no you don’t! Don’t you ‘dear boy’ me! I am Harry’s godfather, and since Alice and Frank are… unable to take care of Harry, I am the one who should take custody of him.”

“Sirius, you simply do not understand. When Lily sacrificed herself for Harry, she caused Blood Wards into being. Surely you know of this type of magic?” asked Dumbledore benignly.

Sirius looked up from the floor and pierced the man with a withering glare. “Of course I know about it, but even I know that Blood Wards are a very old, very unstable bit of magic. It would deny entry to anyone who was entirely focussed on causing direct physical pain upon the Wards’ centre, but there are other sorts of pain. I should know! From what I know about the Dursleys, their main form of hurting people is verbally, which wouldn’t register to the Wards, and I would bet that purposeful neglect wouldn’t register either. I will not allow James and Lily’s _son_ to be abused in any shape or form, and I am willing to fight you in court for his custody! Is that clear, Albus?”

Dumbledore gave a sad sigh and threaded his long, thin fingers together on the desk he sat behind. After a long moment of staring into Sirius’ eyes as though they would tell him whether he was telling the truth, he sighed again and said, “Very well, then. I will tell Hagrid to change course and head to number twelve. You should expect him in about four hours. I expect monthly reports for the first three years, then one report every six months until he reaches eleven. Understood?”

Sirius closed his eyes for a split second in relief, but opened them again after remembering that showing that kind of emotion around Dumbledore was not necessarily a good thing. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

With his godson now safely in his care, he made his way out of the Headmaster’s Office, down many stairs, and was just about to make his way outside, when he bumped into none other than Severus Snape, the Potions Master. Snape, a sallow-faced, greasy-haired man who always wore black, looked even more pale than he normally did, and looked surprised to bump into Sirius, but that was quickly covered up by a large sneer. “Black,” Snape growled.

“Snape. You look horrible.”

If possible, the sneer became more pronounced than it had been previously. “Eloquent as ever, mutt. Why is it you look cheerful? Surely you haven’t bought into the insanity of celebrating the Dark Lord’s demise.”

Sirius’ previously ecstatic expression dropped a bit. “I’m not cheerful about you looking horrible, if that’s what you’re insinuating, and no, I haven’t ‘bought into’ anything. My best friend _died_ last night, and I can assure you I’m shattered about that. However, I have just managed to persuade Dumbledore from placing Harry with his aunt. _That’s_ what I’m so ‘cheerful’ about.”

This stopped Snape up short. “You managed to… what? With _Tun_ \- er _Petunia_? Is he mad?”

“Exactly my thinking, Severus. Thank goodness I was stated as Harry’s godfather, or he’d have been sent off to live with her, her whale-husband, and their son,” stated Sirius proudly.

Grudging respect shone in Snape’s eyes.

Sirius awkwardly cleared his throat and asked, “Would… do you want to meet him? It doesn’t have to be for very long, and… erm, it’d have to be before the full moon on the eleventh anyhow…”

A flicker of hope flashed across Snape’s expression, but was quickly tamped down by his superior control. The fact that Snape’s face had even shown anything but a sneer was a true testament to how much Lily’s death the previous night had affected him. “I have classes to teach this week, Black, so the earliest I might be able to… visit the child would be next Sunday. Which time would be preferable?”

Sirius nodded, an uneasy smile on his face. “Oh, just come around one. I’m sure Remus would be fine with that, it’s when he’s strongest during the week before.”

Snape arched one eyebrow regally. “Indeed.”

*****

When Sirius arrived back at home, he was startled to hear the faint sounds of snoring coming from the dining room. He entered cautiously, and then sighed sadly. His Bondmate was passed out at the kitchen table, several bottles of Ogden’s Finest Firewhisky empty and scattered around his place. It was very difficult to get a werewolf tipsy, let alone full-on blackout drunk, so to see Remus like this pained him immensely. When they’d gotten the news James and Lily had been killed by Voldemort, Remus had sat in his favourite armchair for hours, not moving, not shouting, and certainly not crying, which was exactly what Sirius had done. Remus had seemed to draw inside himself, as though to hide away from the terrible atrocities the war had done to him. He’d seen the same thing happen to Remus when his mother died shortly before they’d finished Hogwarts, and it had taken months before he’d been able to draw his beloved out of his shell again.

Sirius summoned a Sobering Potion, and gently sat Remus up in his chair before tipping the potion into his mouth. Remus spluttered and choked, then looked at Sirius scathingly.

“Hey,” started Sirius, “don’t look at me like that, Moony. I need your help to set this place up.”

“What for?” moaned Remus.

“Harry’s coming. Here. In four hours. We need a room and a cot and—”

“Wait… what? Here? Sirius, this house is not fit for a child! It might have worked out well for the Order’s headquarters, but…”

“Ah, Moony, you faithless old soul. You forget. Magic. I’ve already been to Gringotts to hire curse-breakers, and I’ve been to the Ministry for pest control. Both teams will be here within ten minutes. We can do all the rest.”

Remus stood up on shaky legs and surveyed the room they were in dubiously. “Good luck with that.”

Incredibly, within an hour and a half, the portrait of Sirius’ mother was gone, Kreacher was introduced to five other Black house-elves with remarkably little fuss on his part, all the dangerous animals (dead or alive) had been disposed of or relocated, the house-elf heads had been burned, and the goblins in the team of curse-breakers had discovered an unusual locket which they insisted was a Horcrux (Sirius had never heard of one, and the concept had to be explained to him several times). The remaining time was spent popping into many furniture stores, buying children’s books (and books on children), and permanently transfiguring the walls and floors to look cheerful in stead of horribly depressing.

Finally, Sirius and Remus stood with bated breath in their small back yard and watched as Rubeus Hagrid landed Sirius’ huge motorbike on a small stretch of dirt in front of them. “Sirius, Remus. Here yeh go, boys. Dunno how yeh managed ter convince Professor Dumbledore to give him to yeh, but… here he is.”

In Hagrid’s vast, muscular arms lay Harry, in a swaddle of cloths and blankets. His beetle eyes were crinkled into a smile as he handed the sleeping one-year-old child to his godfather.

“Aww, isn’t tha’ a lovely picture. Would… would I be able ter… visit him sometimes? Like in summer when there ain’t no kids at Hogwarts?” asked Hagrid timidly.

Despite all the sad thoughts going through all three of their heads at what should have been, Sirius and Remus smiled kindly at Hagrid and nodded, causing the hopeful grin on Hagrid’s face to transform into a full-blown grin worthy of a (less creepy) Cheshire cat.

Happy with their answer, he said his goodbyes, along with a scratchy, whiskery kiss to Harry, and spun on the spot, popping out of existence with a sound reminiscent of a car backfiring. The family of three walked back inside, eager to get indoors and start their life together.

A breeze ruffled the scrawny bushes and sturdy trees of Grimmauld Place, which lay untidy and resolute, birdsong being heard, and the muggles living around the unseen number twelve rolled over, waking up to face the day. Unbeknownst to them, Harry Potter, a most extraordinary child, slept on.


	2. The Vanishing Blocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything belongs to our queen, the illustrious JK, except for my ideas and plot bunnies.

And so it happened, about a month after Sirius and Remus were given custody of Harry, the Potter’s half-kneazle cat arrived, scrawny and bedraggled. As the house was _supposed_ to be under the Fidelius Charm, Sirius had no idea how it had found them. The cat was an ugly thing, with a squashed face like a pug, but Harry, all of one year old, completely loved him, so Crookshanks was (unwillingly on Sirius and Remus’ part) integrated into their lives.

Harry grew up in a household full of pranks, laughter, and, most importantly, love.

After a few years, The two godfathers realised Harry was becoming lonely, so they reached out to people they knew from the Order, like Arthur and Molly Weasley. Ron and Harry became inseparable almost immediately, with Ginny often trailing behind them as they embarked on their adventures. Harry and shy Neville also struck an acquaintance, and met up, although not as frequently, to spend many happy hours in the Longbottom Manor’s greenhouses. Neville’s exposure to Harry, and sometimes Ron, made him open up emotionally, as well as magically. His first case of accidental magic came at age five, during his and Harry’s joined birthday party, when he managed to enlarge one of the Leaping Toadstools, that Sirius had gifted him with, to three times its normal size. This caused his surprised Great Uncle Algie to buy him a small toad in celebration, whom Neville happily named Trevor.

Then came a day that, in hindsight, Harry would look upon as the day everything changed: his tenth birthday. The day before, he’d received a frantic firecall from Neville, who had told him that his Gran had taken him to Gringotts to get confirmed as the house of Longbottom. What was surprising was that, as they’d done the Blood Test, another house had claimed him as its heir; the Most Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor.

Harry had rejoiced for his friend, saying that it couldn’t have happened to a better person and that he couldn’t wait to see his heir’s rings. Then it had occurred to him that perhaps Sirius and Remus (or Pads and Moony, as he called them) were going to take _him_ to Gringotts the next day. He’d approached them anxiously, afraid that if he was wrong, he’d be disappointed, but was pleasantly surprised when Sirius’ head shot up in alarm and he half-shouted the next half of his sentence. “ _How did yo_ _u_ — Oh, little Nev told you, right?”

Harry nodded eagerly, and Remus let out a bark of laughter. “Yes, pup, we’re visiting Gringotts tomorrow.”

Harry launched himself at his godfathers, happy that he’d been right, but also exhilarated that they thought him grown up enough to have a say, however small, in what happened to the Potter fortune. He knew his parents had left him a small vault to himself, and he knew that his godfathers would most likely end up paying for most of his stuff anyway, but what the Potter vaults might have was really interesting.

Neville said that some of his family’s vaults only had heirlooms and history books, but the one that had interested him the most was filled with things that his recent ancestors, including his parents, had owned. Apparently, he’d even tried out their wands, but none of them had worked for him.

So, as his birthday dawned, he woke and couldn’t get to sleep again. He knew he shouldn’t go downstairs, since it was tradition for his godfathers to set up the table the night before and put up a prank which would only go off if he went downstairs too soon. Therefore, he decided to clean his room (which was a first for him to do without being asked) so it looked like what he thought befitted an heir of two Most Ancient and Noble houses, and had a quick shower, before sitting down at his desk and getting out his watercolours. He was quite proud of his artistic ability, and had taken it upon himself to do at least one drawing or painting a week, unless he decided on using ink or acrylic paint, since they always took him longer to do.

Finally, after what seemed like days, he hears his godfathers’ door open and two sets of footsteps padding down from their level to his. He quickly capped his paints and slipped back into bed. The door opened with nary a creak, and he heard Remus’ quiet footsteps sneak across the room to his bed, then his hand was on his shoulder, jostling him softly.

However, Remus knew him too well to believe he was only just waking up. “Having fun painting, pup?”

Harry growled softly in the back of his throat. “I was sure you wouldn’t be able to tell this time. How’d you know? Well… besides your wolfy senses, that is.”

“I’m sure even a normal human would have been able to smell your paints this morning. What were you painting that had you captivated for so long?”

"I think it’s a ruby, but it’s really big and it hasn’t been cut in any extraordinary manner.”

Remus walked over to Harry’s desk and whistled. “Nice. The fire detail around the edges and in the heart of the ruby is exquisite. Fire with watercolour, that’s certainly different.”

The morning progressed grandly; the breakfast was succulent, and the presents were small yet thoughtful. His joint party with Neville had been the weekend before, since Ron’s family was busy visiting Bill in Egypt this week. After they were done, they flooed to Diagon Alley and strolled down to the large white building with the word Gringotts across the front in large, bronze letters. Harry had only been to Gringotts once before, so that Sirius could organise an allowance, and an automatic money-retrieval bag, for him. This time, it felt somehow larger, stranger, and more ominous, and he shivered as he saw the rhyming words upon the inner walls.

The three were led to a small office, where a goblin sat stiffly in his miniscule chair.

“Greetings, Lord Black, Consort Black-Lupin, Mr Potter-Black. I am Urzog, Head of Accounts. You are here to validate Mr Potter-Black as your heir?”

Sirius nodded, and Urzog wandlessly summoned a dagger and a piece of parchment. “Hand here, Mr Potter-Black, and keep the blood dripping for ten drops.”

Harry steeled himself as the tip of his right ring finger was punctured, then watched in amazement as his blood fell onto the parchment and neat writing blossomed underneath it.

 

_**Harry James Potter-Black** _

_**Son of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Marie Potter, nee Evans**_

_**Born 31** _ _**st** _ _**July 1980** _

_**Under guardianship of Sirius Orion Black and consort, Remus John Lupin** _

_**Resides in 12 Grimmauld Place, London** _

_**Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin**_ _— Conquest_

_**Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black**_ _— Blood_

_**Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter** _ _— Blood_

_**Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell** _ _— Blood_

_Magical Gifts: Parseltongue, Healing, Mother’s Protection, Magesight._

_**IMMENSE MAGICAL AND MENTAL INFLUENCE DETECTED** _

_**BLACK MAGIC DETECTED** _

 

All three adults in the room gasped when the last two statements appeared, and Harry was suddenly very nervous.

Urzog hurriedly pressed a rune set into the side of his chair and growled Gobbledygook into it. A muffled voice came from it, and he nodded once he let go of it. “I am afraid, sirs, that this cannot continue until the boy’s magical and mental state has been assessed.”

A smaller goblin entered the room, stating, “I am Healer Agnock. Permission to touch you, Mr Potter-Black?”

Harry nodded. What was going on? They all sounded so serious, and he was getting scared. A sensation like water flowed through his head for about a minute, and then abruptly stopped when Healer Agnock opened her eyes again. “It seems you have had several behavioural and magical blocks in place, as well as a horcrux placed in your mind. These will not affect the claiming of your titles, and I would suggest claiming them, then cleansing you.”

Harry nodded, but one thing wasn’t quite clear to him. “What’s a horcrux?”

“A horcrux,” explained Healer Agnock gently, “is a particularly foul piece of black magic, made by ritualistic murder. It is a torn off piece of the caster’s soul, and prevents them from dying as long as it exists. It is something all goblins know of and despise, and we offer their destruction free of charge. Their vessels are not harmed.”

So many questions were tramping about in his head, but the most insistent one was this: Who would be messed up enough to do something like that?

Then it occurred to him that the only person who’d ever done black magic on him, was Voldemort.

“So, Voldemort isn’t dead?” asked Harry slowly. Sirius and Remus flinched, and both the goblins hissed at the possibility.

Harry hunched his shoulders and sighed. This was a little too intense for him at the moment, so he simply said, “Can we please just do the claiming and cleansing? We can think about Dark Lords coming back from the dead later.”

This seemed to snap all of the adults in the room out of their stupor, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Urzog snapped his fingers, and instantly four ornate wooden boxes appeared on the desk in front of him. “We shall go from the least powerful to most powerful. Here,” he said as he handed Harry the box with the Peverell coat of Arms. Harry slipped it onto his right ring finger, then looked up in amazement as the previously loose ring heated and shrunk to fit him, and he felt the Peverell Family Magics settled inside him. Urzog then instructed him on how to cause the ring to flicker out of existence, so that he still wore it, but it took up no space on his finger. He repeated this procedure with the Potter and Black rings, but when he put on the Slytherin ring, something different happened. There was a sudden pain in his forehead, like a knife being stabbed into him. His hand flew up to cover his scar, only to encounter black ooze seeping out of it.

“Don’t touch it!” cried Urzog, casting a wandless, non-verbal cleaning spell on the hand which had come into contact with the ooze. Sirius quickly conjured a bucket to catch the stuff, while Remus held onto Harry to keep him from falling over. After a few tense moments, it seemed that no more was emerging from his scar, and Harry slumped back into Remus’ arms, unconscious.

Sirius was furious. “What is the meaning of this? What in Merlin’s name happened?”

Healer Agnock cast a diagnostic charm over Harry, then said, “The placement of the Slytherin ring and the settling of the Family Magics seems to have pushed out Voldemort’s soul fragment. No surprise, really, because when a house is conquered, all remains of magic cast by the defeated party on the conqueror is erased. The horcrux was destroyed.”

Harry had come around by then, and feebly muttered, “Maybe you should get the rest of the cleansing over and done with, now?”

They all agreed, and it was done as quickly and efficiently as possible, meaning that it took half an hour, and plenty of uncomfortable twinging sensations, for each and every block and limiting net to be removed.


	3. The Questions to No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone noticing the chapter titles? I think they're brilliant... but then again, I'm slightly biased towards me.
> 
> Anyway, it's 2:30 am where I am, so it counts as Monday, my update day. Fight me.
> 
> JK's fantastic, her story is incredible, I'm just a fan, trying to get some of her headcanons out there.
> 
> I'm so tired.

It took him a total of three weeks for his magical core to recover from the horrible ordeal. The first week was spent mostly sleeping, since it had tired out his body trying to stay conscious, and when he woke up, he found he was different from what he remembered. Since he had always been rather small and skinny, he’d figured that it was due to genetics, or some other such subject that Remus liked to quiz him on sometimes. However, he woke to a definite growth spurt, and he didn’t feel quite so skinny.

When he came downstairs for breakfast, he felt absolutely ravenous. Logically, this could have been put down to him not having eaten for the past week, but when it came to magic, this was not the case. Remus and Sirius had spelled Nutrition Potions, which provided all the necessary nutrients and vitamins to keep him alive, into his stomach shortly after they were done with their own meals. No, this was the appetite of someone whose mental need to not eat much had been removed. The Healer had provided a list of all the blocks removed, which turned out to be very helpful as he recovered.

His next revelation came the following week when he was suddenly itching to know what Remus was reading. He crept up behind his godfather and poked his head over his shoulder. “Harry, if you wanted to know what I was reading, all you had to do was ask.”

Harry shrugged. “I wouldn’t have stopped there. I would have asked what it was about, what you thought about it, and if you could hurry up so I could read it.”

Remus blinked. “You were always rather curious about any secrets, but this is certainly new.”

“I know, it’s weird. Then again, I didn’t feel like asking what you were doing sneaking around the kitchen late last night. I felt curious, yes, but I didn’t have the urge to get up and confront you or do something about it. It’s a bit disconcerting, because I knew that that was what I normally felt, but I just didn’t.”

Harry saw Remus’ cheeks redden a bit. “I was sneaking a bowl of ice cream upstairs, and anyway, what were you doing up so late?”

“Drawing,” Harry said in nonchalance.

By this time, the book had been abandoned on a nearby end table, and Harry was sitting in Remus’ lap. This allowed Harry to see Remus simply raise one eyebrow, and he squirmed under his questioning gaze. “I just had all these really great ideas, and I felt like I couldn’t sleep until I had drawn out at least sketches of them. Maybe there was a net that prevented me from using up too many precious resources or something. You told me how Sirius saved me from being put with my relatives, so maybe Dumbledore put these things on me to make me meek, malleable, and easy to abuse or something. The freedoms I’ve encountered so far certainly seem to fit the bill.”

Remus’ eyes were now boggling out of their sockets, and in a slightly hoarse voice said, “Your talking style has also changed. You don’t talk like a ten-year-old anymore, and your hypothesis as to that man’s motivations is quite possible.”

Harry looked chagrined. “That might be because I went into the library yesterday, and researched some of the blocks on the list, and then read up on some of your psychology textbooks.”

Remus gave a low whistle. Then, he said in a slightly louder voice, “Hey Siri, come in here for a sec!”

Sirius strolled in, a pear in one hand and a _Daily Prophet_ in the other. “What is it, Rem?”

“Harry read my psychology books of his own free will. Not even _you_ could stomach that.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow as well, and Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, I think they were well written, although _Criminal Psychology: How it Works_ by Robert Edland was slightly out of date, and his writing style was rather dry when compared to the other ones… OK, I see why that’s a concern. I am a bit of a book nerd now, aren’t I?”

Sirius burst out laughing. In between chuckles, he managed to choke out, “Yes, Prongslet, you’re a perfect copy of Moony.”

This statement caused Remus and Harry to start laughing. In between bouts of near-hysterical laughter, Remus said, “I s-suppose you _were_ listening to me all these years.”

*

During the third week of his recovery, Neville came to visit him. Neville’s Gran brought little vanilla cakes with cookies and cream frosting, which were Harry’s favourites. After making polite small talk for a few minutes, Neville asked what had happened, seeing as Harry hadn’t visited the week before to see his heir rings, as he’d said he would. Sirius and Remus had debated quite a bit about whether to tell people, and if so, how much to tell them. They’d finally come to the conclusion that if Harry trusted them, he should tell them if they agreed to learn occlumency. Harry had taught himself the week before, in between Seeker matches with Sirius (since when was he so interested in being a Seeker?), and debates with Remus on 15th century wand cores.

Therefore, after Neville admitted that his Gran had already started teaching him occlumency last winter, Harry told him about Dumbledore, how he’d wanted to place him with his horrible relatives, showed him the list of blocks that he’d been freed from, all with Dumbledore’s magical signature on them, and the goblin Healer’s subsequent cleansing of his mind. Neville sat quiet through it all, mouth open in shock. When Harry had finished talking about that and was trying to decide on how to explain the horcrux issue, Neville found his voice. “That’s… that’s torture! Making you be who you’re not, limiting you to being something less than your true self.”

Harry felt an immense sadness for his friend, whose own parents had been tortured by the Cruciatus until insane.

Changing the subject quickly, Harry had Neville test him to see whether he liked any of the things he hadn’t before. This lead to the discovery that Harry genuinely enjoyed Herbology, and that his brain had retained much more information than he’d previously thought about the subject.

After they’d talked endlessly about the effects of salt water on Burtoni Grass, Harry decided to drop his next bomb. “You-Know-Who isn’t dead,” he blurted out, “he did this ritual thing on me, called a horcrux, that made a bit of his soul break off and latch onto me.”

Neville’s mouth was open again and his eyes were open so wide, Harry thought they might pop out of his skull. “W-w-what? S-so you’ve got a bit of _h-his_ soul in you?”

“I did, yes, but apparently he was the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and that night in Godric’s Hollow, I defeated him because my mum cast Mother’s Protection on me, so I’m now the heir of the House of Slytherin, and the horcrux was expelled from me, see?” Harry asked, making the relevant ring appear and showing that his scar was much lighter than before.

“Okay, how many houses are you the heir to, exactly?” asked Neville.

“Four. Three Most Ancient, and one Ancient. The fourth is Peverell, but I’d never heard of it before that day.”

Neville lowered his head into his hands. “I have so many questions. Why would Dumbledore do something like this? Isn’t he meant to be the leader of the Light? How could he even think about letting a normal kid, let alone the Boy-Who-Lived—sorry, I know you hate that title—be abused? I’ve never even heard of a horcrux, but it sounds insane, and I want to know if Dumbledore knew you were one.”

Harry gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “You and me both, Nev, all of these questions just keep pounding away at me, demanding to be given answers. What frightens me the most though, is the possibility that I wasn’t the only one he created. I mean, he had to have known sometime beforehand how to create them, because I’m pretty sure that mine was a mistake. So, that means there’s got to be at least one more, right? That means there were at least three, because Moony said he remembered a horcrux being found _here_ when they were getting ready to take me.”

Neville shivered, thinking that through, then nodded. “What’s the plan then?”

Harry blinked. “There _is_ no plan for us, we’re just kids. Besides, I haven’t approached Pads and Moony with my ideas or questions, since I’m sure they won’t like my ideas, and they might not be able to answer my questions.”

“How are you coping, then, if you can’t get them out of your head?” asked Neville.

Harry sighed, then went over to his desk and pulled a notebook out of one of his drawers. It was titled, _The Questions and Ideas of Harry Potter_.

“I don’t keep them in my head,” he explained. “As soon as I come up with them, I write them in here, and try to answer them myself.”

“Well, that’s a start, isn’t it? If you don’t want to talk to them about these directly, you could just give it to one of them, and they could read it, maybe research a bit, then get back to you,” he suggested.

Harry shook his head. “Too obvious. They’ll think I’m avoiding them.”

“Hmm… Oh, I know! What if you left it ‘accidentally’ on the kitchen table shortly after lunch, have the cover showing, and then you can come back in and ‘catch’ them reading it and then talk about it. That way, you don’t have to ask them questions, they feel guilty about looking through your stuff, and you might still get answers from them.”

Harry smirked. “That’s brilliant! Are you sure you’re not destined for Slytherin next year?”

Neville shivered. “Merlin, no. They’d eat me alive in minutes! I was actually trying to think like I’ve seen you do before, so maybe you’re the Slytherin! You are the heir, after all.”

They were silent for a few moments, then burst out into laughter.


	4. The Keeper and the Keyfrog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short, filler chapter, because I want to sort of emphasise the difference between this fic and canon, but also because I'm trying to stick to the chapter names... sorta.
> 
> Anyway, everything HP & co. belongs to JK

The summer passed quickly, as did autumn and winter, so it seemed as though spring was suddenly upon them in the blink of an eye. Harry had decided to have his need for glasses removed, by undergoing a slightly painful magical procedure in early spring. Harry and Neville visited each other often, becoming closer than Harry and Ron were. Ron seemed to be getting louder and more dramatic every time Harry saw him, and the cool misty air of Neville’s greenhouse (he’d gotten one meant solely for his use that Christmas) was more attractive to him, even if it was always fun cooking up a nice prank with the twins. Harry had never told Ron that he was the Heir of Slytherin House, due to his hatred of all things Slytherin. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friend, but that he didn’t know how he would react when confronted with such things, not to mention the fact that he wasn’t traditional. Instead, he would simply visit when he either felt like a nice game of Quidditch, or when he needed a break from the monotony of magical theory, which was what he had been learning about for the past two months.

One such a day, both Harry and Neville had decided to go to The Burrow. They arrived at around ten in the morning, and were almost immediately embraced by the loving Mrs Weasley. She had always had a large soft spot for the two, since Harry was only surrounded by male authority figures, and Neville only had “that harpy of a grandmother”, so she was always ready to give out some motherly love. Never did her efforts seem suffocating though, since she always seemed to know when to stop.

As soon as the door shut behind them, they could hear loud footsteps as Ron and Ginny practically flew down the many staircases and tumbled into the kitchen. Garnering exasperated yet fond looks from their mother, they pulled the two boys into a group hug, pushing them out the door at the same time. Now, Neville was not particulary fond of Quidditch, but he would accept a broomstick in order to let his friends have a nice two on two game. It slightly reassured him that the comet he was given was probably slower than most butterflies, but sometimes he just disliked the feeling when he was away from the earth he loved so much.

This time, however, Ron was more interested in showing off his Keeper skills. “Okay, you lot, I want to show you something I’ve been working on for the past week.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny roll her eyes at her older brother’s antics. He shot her a confused look, only to be met by an innocent grin from her.

Ron mounted his broom and shot into the air, hovering protectively in front of the self-made goalposts, and called, “Well? Go on, Harry! Try to get the quaffle past me.”

Harry got onto the broom he’d been given earlier. It was much older and slower than his one at home, but he didn’t want to have an unfair advantage against his friend if he wanted to show off his Keeper skills. He’d been a better Chaser than Seeker when he’d still had the blocks in place, but now he was faster and more observant than before, but since he was also bigger and more coordinated, his Chaser skills had not suffered too much. He caught the quaffle thrown at him by Ginny, who, along with Neville, had also risen into the air. He attempted to barge past Ron and score, but he didn’t succeed. Ron gently pushed him off course, causing the quaffle to fall down to the ground.

Neville’s turn was next, and he simply threw the ball to the left-most hoop, looking a bit green, and Ron flashed over to kick it out of the way. When Ginny went to fetch the quaffle, Ron sighed. “Ginny, I don’t know if you can even carry that thing properly, let alone—”

However, this was the time she chose to score, sliding from normally perching on her broomstick into a one-handed sloth grip roll, throwing the quaffle when she was almost upside down. With a definite _whoosh_ , the quaffle soared through the hoop, and Harry and Neville cheered for the diminuitive witch, while Ron was simply staring at the place where she’d been, mouth hanging open. “Wh-where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked, his face reddening a bit.

“Here, when you were stuck doing chores. This broom is the fastest of the ones in the shed, and I looked at some Chaser technique books when we went to Flourish and Blotts last month,” Ginny stated calmly.

At that moment, all four of them seemed to realise that they were being watched, and that the watcher was still clapping in delight at Ginny’s move. The four of them lowered to the ground, dismounting as soon as they were in range, and approached the white blonde-haired girl.

“Oh, that was simply brilliant, Ginevra! I watched you perfect that move, you know, and I must say, that was far better than that horrible fiasco last Thursday, wasn’t it?” the girl asked.

Ginny smiled kindly. “Thanks, Luna, I didn’t know you were watching me. If I had, I might have invited you to join me, or to sit underneath the apple tree so you could see better.”

Luna’s eyes opened wider in interest. “An apple tree? I didn’t know you had an apple tree here. Could you show me? I might find some Dabberblimps. They’ve been known to be seen near areas of frequent physical activity, and they positively love apples.”

A slightly bemused Ginny led Luna to the tree, and Neville went along, mainly to see what kind of apple tree it was. Harry and Ron were left standing there awkwardly, brooms still in hand. They looked at one another, and Ron shrugged. “Mum always reckons she and her dad are a bit mad. They live over the hill a ways.”

Harry was concerned that _Ron_ might think her mad, then resolved himself to the fact that anyone should be allowed to think whatever they wanted about other people, as long as they kept their opinions to themselves. He suggested a Seeker’s game, and with a grin, Ron accepted, although not before showing off some rather daring moves he said were what some Keepers did to keep the Chasers from scoring.

They had only played one game, when a shriek of delight came from the direction of a nearby pond. Harry looked around, and realised that the sound must have been either Ginny or Luna, for they weren’t under the apple tree any more. Harry motioned to Ron that they should go find them, and once they arrived, Harry noticed that the three were crouched over something, Luna animatedly babbling about it and Ginny and Neville listening intently, _ooh_ ing and _aah_ ing at the appropriate times.

“What did you find, Luna?” asked Harry curiously. Ron rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion beside him, but Harry ignored him.

“A Blue-ringed Keyfrog!” exclaimed Luna. “See?”

Harry came closer to them and saw a tiny frog, no bigger than the pad of his little finger, which did indeed have even smaller blue rings overlaying its dark red skin.

“It looks poisonous,” commented Harry.

“Oh yes it is, Harry Potter. Very poisonous, but most people don’t believe it exists. It’s said to be only slightly less poisonous than the basilisk, but no one has ever been able to verify it.”

This made Harry’s eyes light up. “Is there any way to get some of the poison out of it? I know someone who’d be really interested in it.”

Luna smiled happily. “Yes. Its winter nest is lined with its own poison. Daddy found one next to the river last summer, and he told me that it isn’t affected by being touched by the poison, it only makes it sleepy so that it can hibernate. They always have two nests, you see.”

The five spent the next hour tracking down its winter nest, Ron rather reluctantly, then Ginny was chosen to go and ask her mother for a lidded container, since she was often teased for being the “favourite child”, and once that task was done, they spent the time remaining before Neville and Harry had to leave with their respective guardians splashing around in a different pond... once they’d checked that there were no Keyfrogs in it.


	5. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a big chapter! I rather like this one. Enjoy!
> 
> After all, with a few innocent and well-placed sentences, the course of a beloved soul is changed forever.

About a week before his eleventh birthday, his Hogwarts letter finally arrived. He knew it was his Hogwarts letter, because it came by Tawny owl, which Remus and Sirius had told him was the standard Hogwarts owl, and because he could clearly see the Hogwarts insignia stamped into the lime green wax.

He waited impatiently for his godfathers to come downstairs, and as soon as he saw Sirius in the doorway, he grabbed the letter, which he had untied from the owl a few minutes before, and opened it carefully, savouring the feeling of excitement rushing through him. He pulled out the first letter and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

 

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

 

_Dear Mr Potter-Black,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

 

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

  


He was so excited, he could barely breathe, let alone speak or write a coherent letter of affirmation, but Remus seemed to be handling that. He and Sirius had sat down at the table, watching their godson in amusement, and Remus had summoned a piece of parchment and a quill, writing a quick reply back. Once finished, he tied it to the waiting owl’s leg and let it outside, then sat back down while Harry was still staring at the letter with a sappy grin on his face.

“How about we visit Diagon Alley on your birthday, hey pup?” asked Sirius, breaking Harry out of his trance.

Harry nodded so vigorously, he felt as though his head might come off.

Sirius and Remus both laughed, then Remus asked, “Aren’t you going to read the equipment list?”

Harry simply grinned before taking out the second letter and reading it through carefully.

*

Harry was, once again, very excited. He’d been to Diagon Alley plenty of times before, but this time it felt different. Sirius and Remus had side-along apparated him right into the middle of Diagon Alley, and the nearest shop was the apothecary. _Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible_ said the sign hanging above it. “So, Prongslet, what’s the plan?” asked Sirius.

Harry thought for a moment. “Well,” he said, “I’d really like to get my own owl, so maybe we could go there first? Then after that, Moony, you’re the best at potions, could you go to the apothecary, while Pads, could you get my telescope?”

The two men nodded, and Harry continued. “Okay, while you do that, I’ll get my robes, and we could meet at Maire’s Café for lunch. Then we could get my wand, and I’d like to go to Flourish and Blotts last, because this new tome on the different uses of unicorn horns and hair came out last month, and apparently it’s really in-depth.”

Remus chuckled, and Sirius simply shook his head, then the trio set off down the cobbled street towards _Eeylops Owl Emporium and Menagerie_.

It was cool and dark when they walked in, and they immediately had to duck out of the way of a Barn owl. Harry headed towards the sign saying _Owls – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy_. After walking through the narrow aisle filled to the brim with owls of all sorts of different colours, some of which hooted at him reproachfully for interrupting their sleep, he came to a beautiful female Snowy owl. “Hi, girl,” he said softly. The owl’s sharp amber eyes looked at him carefully, as though not fully sure what to make of this quiet boy who talked kindly, and when he held out his hand to her, she pushed her head into his palm in acceptance. Elated, he stroked her soft feathers, and looked back behind him at his godfathers. Sirus was grinning, holding up his thumb in congratulations, and Remus was smiling softly at the picture the boy and his bird made.

Carefully shifting his hand so that the owl could climb onto his arm, he made his way to the front of the shop, before stopping short when he glimpsed a small, slightly unkempt sign which said _Snakes – Pythons, Vipers, Ratsnakes, Sidewinders, and Vine Snakes_. Another thrill of excitement shot through him, and he looked back at the men for permission. He’d been itching to try out Parseltongue ever since he’d learned what it was during his recovery period last year. The two looked at each other, before turning back to him, nodding. Happy, he handed off the owl, who gave a small hoot in protest since she’d just gotten comfy, and headed towards the snake enclosures.

On one level, he knew the snakes were hissing, he could hear it clearly, but at the same time, the meanings of the hisses made themselves known to his ears, causing the hisses to both remain hisses, and be recognisable words.

He timidly said, _:Hello.:_ and was instantly rewarded by the snakes stopping their conversations to look at him. He was then inundated by several shouts of, _:A speaker!:_ and _:How bizarre!:_

He grinned again. He was successfully _speaking_ with _snakes_. He looked around at the few tanks the shop had, and was drawn in by a small, horned, red and white snake. He crouched down and said, _:Hello. What’s your name?:_

The snake regarded him with its lidless orange eyes. _:I am Enya, snakelet.:_

_:Enya, that’s a beautiful name. May I ask what it means?:_

_:Certainly. It means ‘little fire’. What is your name, speaker?:_

_:Harry. What type of snake are you? You look so beautiful, and I can see why your breeder gave you a name with that meaning.:_

Enya preened, twisting in a way that made the heat lamp’s light flash beautifully off her scales, and he was sure she’d practiced the move a hundred times before. _:I am a Marbled Hornviper. I specialise in protection, and my venom is one of the most potent in this place.:_

Harry nodded, and stood up again to find one of his godfathers, only to realise that Sirius had been standing at the entrance to the snake area, watching him speak Parseltongue with interest.

“Can I get this one? Her name’s Enya, and she’s a Marbled Hornviper.”

Sirius walked over to the snake in question, thinking about the benefits and risks of it, and when Remus walked in, owl in tow, Sirius nodded. “Okay pup, but you’ll need a proper enclosure, and I’ll take her back home quickly before I go to get your telescope.”

Remus, hearing this, walked over to them and read the little sticker on the enclosure. “I don’t see why not. She is, after all, bred for the protection of her owner, and no safety measure like this is unwelcome.”

*

The next stop for Harry was _Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions_. Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she said in a kind, motherly tone. “Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped an oversized robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

“Hullo,” said the boy, “Hogwarts too?”

“Yep,” said Harry, popping the ‘p’, “I can’t wait. What about you?”

“Oh yes, definitely. The classes are sure to be great, although I don’t see why first-years can’t be on the house Quidditch teams.” He had a bored, drawling voice.

“Mmm, I completely agree, but then again, I can see why they changed it, after that first-year was nearly killed by that bludger in 1843.”

The boy’s eyebrows lifted higher a bit. “How do you know that? You must be a Ravenclaw!”

Harry shrugged. “I read it in this book on Quidditch history a few months ago. I don’t think I’m smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, I just really like learning about Quidditch, and history, really.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “What position do you play, then? I’m either a Seeker or a Chaser, personally.”

Grinning, Harry said, “I’m the same, but I’m a bit better at Seeker if I do say so myself. Favourite team? Mine’s the Falmouth Falcons.”

“Hey, mine too! What are the chances?” the boy exclaimed. “I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy,” he said, extending his hand towards Harry.

He took it. “Harry Potter-Black, at your service.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “ _The_ Harry Potter… well, Potter-Black? I am quite a big fan…”

He trailed off when he noticed that Harry’s shoulders were slightly hunched over, as though trying to protect himself. “Uh… What house do you think you’re going to be in, then, if not Ravenclaw?”

Harry exhaled heavily, and looked at Draco gratefully. “I don’t know, Gryffindor I guess? It’s where my mum and dad went, as well as my godfathers, so the way I was raised by Gryffindors really sort of dictates where I’m going to end up, right?”

“Not at all. If you feel like a Hufflepuff more than a Gryffindor, then I’m sure the Sorting Hat will see that and put you in there. My… my father has high hopes for me in Slytherin, and my whole family’s been in there, but with its bad reputation, I don’t know if I’d get many jobs or real friends if I were there.” He suddenly looked up in alarm. “Just… don’t tell my father, if you see him. He would be furious. Mother would at least be understanding, if not supportive, of my decision, but as Slytherin has the highest percentage of purebloods, he wants me in there.”

Harry nodded, understanding immediately what Draco meant. Sirius had told him about his cousin, Narcissa, and how her husband Lucius was so very invested in the pureblood dogma that he couldn’t understand some of the larger uses that the muggle world could bring to the wizarding one.

They talked about subjects for a little while longer, when Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done, my dear.”

Harry hopped off the stool, reluctant to leave, and turned to face Draco again. “Hey, you could write to me, if you like? Only, my place is under the Fidelius, so I’ll send my owl with a letter soon, and she’ll wait for your reply, then come back to me.”

Draco nodded enthusiastically, all trace of the pureblood heir long gone. “I’d like that, Harry.”

*

The rest of Harry’s Diagon Alley adventure was uneventful, although the wand he received was interesting. It came from a tiny store called _Morwenna’s Wands_ , which they found in Ambrosia Alley, a street known for its cafés and shops full of unusual knick knacks. They entered the store, rationalising their entry by agreeing that _Ollivander’s_ was a street away in Diagon Alley. The bell tinkled above them, and a black-haired, middle-aged witch standing behind a counter looked up from the _Daily Prophet_ she was reading. Seeing she had customers, her face broke out into a wide smile. “Hello, and welcome to Morwenna’s Wands. What can I do for you today?” she asked.

“Um,” started Harry, “I need a wand. Your store was closer than Ollivander’s, so...”

Her smile only grew wider. “Well, then. Stand still, and let my tape measure see what length of wood would suit you best.”

The tape measure came flying out from behind the counter, and started to measure his height, his arm length, and the length of his individual fingers. Meanwhile, Morwenna walked over to a large glass box full of different coloured blocks of wood. The tape measure was just finished with measuring the circumference of Harry’s head, when the woman clicked her fingers, causing it to zoom over to her, where she held a piece of parchment and a quill, dutifully marking down all the measurements it had recorded. “Hmm, I’d say about eleven to eleven-and-a-half inches. Come here, kid,” Morwenna said.

Harry walked over to the counter, and she gestured to the blocks of wood she’d laid out in a row. “Hover your hand over each of them. Your magic should feel very connected to one in particular, although liking more than one is common as well.”

He did as asked, and when he was about halfway through, he couldn’t move any farther than a slightly coarse, medium golden-brown block of wood, which had an olive cast to it. He looked up at Morwenna, and said, “This one.”

“Ah, that is the heartwood section of an English Oak tree. It connects to those who are courageous, loyal, intuitive, and have an unusual affinity for the natural world, be it plants or animals, and are quite drawn to the earth or air. A very nice choice. Next, sit on this stool, and I’ll get out the cores,” she said, and with a flick of her wand, the remaining blocks of wood were back in the box and tucked into the shelf. With another flick, the metal box next to the glass box floated onto the counter, and before she opened it, she said, “Ollivander has one thing right; the wand chooses the wizard. In truth though, it’s actually the wand core that has to choose you. After I open, there will be a rush of air, magic, and warmth, and your core will come to you.”

She did as she said she would, and after the first few disorientating seconds filled with colours and magic, two feathers floated out of the box. One was such a faint yellow it may as well be white, and the other was a deep, rich orange, and flashes of red came over it as it passed under a light source. “Wow, A dual core. This is going to be awesome to make! Thunderbird for power, Transfiguration, quite difficult to gain its approval; and Phoenix, the largest range of magic for cores, quite picky, good with healing, and it’s been known to act of its own accord sometimes. I’ll say, we can expect some powerful and interesting acts of magic from you, kid. What’s your name, may I ask?”

Harry gulped. “Harry Potter-Black.”

Morwenna threw back her head and laughed in delight. “Oh, brilliant! Just wait until I tell old Garrick that you came to _me!_ Okay, you three can go off and do your shopping for about an hour, and then your wand should be finished. Until then, cheerio!”


	6. The Journey From Platform Nine and Three Quarters

On the morning of September 1st, Neville flooed over to Grimmauld Place. This was because his Gran had a charity function to attend at the time the Hogwarts Express was due to leave, and because she didn’t trust his Great Uncle Algie with his safety. Harry greeted him at the fireplace, hugging him and telling him about his week, since they’d met up a week ago as well.

When it was ten o’clock, Sirius and Remus apparated them into a disused bathroom in King’s Cross Station, which was only disused because Platform 9 ¾ had anti-apparation wards all over it. They exited the bathroom one by one, so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. This attention was bound to happen anyway, because the two boys had huge trunks, one had a cage with an _owl_ in it, and the other had a small leather satchel hanging around his neck, and a toad’s head occasionally popped out of the opening to see its surroundings.

Ignoring the stares from the muggles was easy enough, as Harry had grown up with it from all sorts of wizards, and so once the two adults had found them both trolleys, the four of them made their way down three quarters of the way down the strip between platforms nine and ten. “All about the original firsties experience, boys,” stated Sirius, who looked wistful, as though _he_ wanted to be a first-year again.

Harry and Neville had both been told what to do many times beforehand, but listening to Harry’s godfathers tell the story and actually about to run face-first into what looked like a solid brick wall, were completely different things. Remus, showing that the entrance was real, walked briskly towards the wall one second, and then the next, he seemed to disappear. Harry and Neville both gulped, looked at each other, then squared their shoulders simultaneously. They started towards it, and contrary to its extremely solid appearance, they walked right through it, one after the other.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform with a few people on it. A sign overhead said _Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock_. Harry looked behind him and saw Neville, with his eyes closed, pass through a wrought-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. They had done it.

Smoke was drifting from the engine over the heads of the few chattering children who stood with their parents, reluctant to leave, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

That was when he became aware of Remus clapping, his eyes alight with happiness and pride. He saw Sirius pass through the archway as well, and the four of them, now reunited, made their way along the platform, looking for an empty compartment.

The first few carriages were quite close to packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Near the middle of the train, they found an empty compartment. Just as Sirius and Remus had lifted up Harry’s and Neville’s trunks into the storage area, Harry spotted a tall, regally dressed woman walking along with her son, both with very familiar white-blonde hair.

He rushed out from the compartment, ducking and weaving a bit in between the families, until he was in listening range of Draco and his mother.

“… but Mother, I don’t like Crabbe, _or_ Goyle. I’ve never liked them, you know that. Must I sit with them?”

“If you cannot find appropriate fellows, Draco, what other choice do you have?” asked the stern, yet soft voice of Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry called out, “I guess you’ll just have to sit with me then, won’t you, Draco?”

He saw Draco start at the sound of his voice, search around for him, and then smile hugely when he found Harry’s trademark messy black hair and bright green eyes.

“Harry!” he called back in response, deserting his trolley and his mother, who stood there looking a bit perplexed at Draco’s uncharacteristic break of decorum. Harry caught Draco’s hug, and when they let go of one another, neither could stop grinning. They’d owled each other quite often since Harry’s birthday, but Draco had been afraid to ask his father for permission to visit him.

“Harry, this is my mother,” Draco said, waving one arm at Narcissa to get her to come towards them. She waved her wand once, causing the trolley with Draco’s trunk and owl to roll alongside her.

Harry gave a small bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Malfoy. I’m Harry Potter-Black. Your son and I met in Madam Malkin’s, and have been exchanging owls ever since.”

Narcissa raised one perfect eyebrow. “And all this time, I thought you were talking to Pansy, Draco.”

A faint pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks as he looked down at the ground.

“Harry! This is where you’ve run off to. I’d have thought you’d be more eager to… er, hello, Cissy. Fancy seeing you here again.”

“ _Cissy?_ ” mouthed Draco at Harry. Harry shrugged.

Narcissa’s eyes were wide open, now. “Sirius? Goodness, it’s been ten years, hasn’t it?”

*

While the cousins reacquainted themselves, Harry led Draco to the compartment he’d left Neville in earlier. Once they’d entered the compartment, Draco’s things in tow, Harry said, “Nev, this is Draco. Draco, this is Neville.”

Neville had been fairly nervous when he’d heard Harry had met the nephew of one of the people who had tortured his parents, but was somewhat reassured when Harry revealed Draco wasn’t at all like his aunt, and felt stifled by his father’s opinions.

There were a few tense, silent moments, before Draco asked, “So, which subjects are you most looking forward to, Neville?”

This broke the tension immediately, because Neville realised that Draco was just as nervous about this meeting as he was, and Neville tentatively offered up an olive branch by saying, “Well, Herbology, obviously, I have my own greenhouse at home, but I suppose I’m looking forward to Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. You?”

Draco sank into a seat, thinking. “Well, my wand core says Charms, but my mother was good at Transfiguration.”

Here was a subject Harry knew plenty about. “What type is your wand?”

Neville groaned good-naturedly, and Draco looked confused. Neville enlightened him. “Harry loves wandlore. He knows the most commonly used wand cores all the way back to the eleventh century. And don’t even get him started on the wood types.”

Harry poked Neville’s side in retaliation.

“My wand is hawthorn, with a unicorn hair core,” Draco supplied, interested in how much Harry knew.

Harry dove straight into analysing Draco’s wand, stating that perhaps his turmoil with his father counted as the ‘inner turmoil’ that would bond them together more strongly. Draco was at first a bit miffed that Harry had uttered something so personal in front of a stranger, but once he remembered just who the other person was, he settled down.

“… especially with your core, you know?” Harry was saying. “The most resistant to Dark magic, so that probably implies that you’ll eventually need to choose between Light and Dark. Aren’t you lucky you’ve got us to keep you centred?”

Draco, who was now looking up at Harry in awe, simply nodded.

By now, the station had filled up with way more people than it had when they’d arrived, and Neville saw Sirius making his way through the crowd towards them.

“Harry, if you’d stop your tirade over… Draco’s wand, you’d notice Sirius wants you,” interrupted Neville. Harry stopped and looked out the window just as Sirius got to their compartment. He opened up the window, and Sirius said, “Hey pup, Nev, Draco. I just wanted to wish you all good luck, and that I’ll be sending you a package first thing tomorrow, okay pup?”

He turned to Draco. “Draco, your mother and I are cousins, so it’s only fair that we try to get along. I’m taking your mother out to coffee after this, to get to know one another again. Bye for now, boys, but I’ll stay on the platform until the train leaves, which is in about… ten minutes, I’d say.”

He gave a jaunty wave, and walked back to where they could just see Narcissa and Remus.

It was at that moment, that Ron found their compartment and entered, but he stopped short when he saw Draco. “Um… Harry? Why’s a Malfoy in the cabin?” he asked slowly.

Harry saw Draco tense, and he stated in a monotone, “ _Draco’s_ here because I asked him to be, Ron.”

Ron’s brow scrunched up in confusion and opened his mouth to protest, but Harry beat him to it. “No. No buts, he’s my friend. Besides, the two of you actually have a little bit in common.”

“We do?” they both asked.

Harry smirked. “Yeah. You both love Quidditch, and Ron, did you know that we spent an entire week playing a game of chess by owl? Draco’s pretty good at chess, might even give you a run for your money.”

Ron looked flabbergasted.

That was all it took for Neville to start giggling, and then very soon all four boys were roaring with laughter. Once it had died down, Ron asked, “Seriously though, how did you and Malfoy meet, Harry?”

“Madam Malkin’s,” supplied Harry.

Ron nodded, and this time he addressed Draco. “And you’re one of those pureblood heir thingies, right? How are you not snooty if you believe in that stuff?”

“Ron...” started Harry, but Draco cut him off.

“It’s okay, Harry, I can answer. Yes, Weasley, I’m the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, but that’s not all I am. Besides, Harry’s the heir to two Most Ancient and Noble Houses, and Neville’s the heir to one. What differences does that make in the way you treat them?”

Ron shrugged, preferring to think about such things before saying anything else, but then Harry cleared his throat, looking over at Neville, who gave a resigned nod. _Might as well get it over and done with now,_ he thought. “Er, that’s not completely true. I’m the heir to three Most Ancient, and one Ancient, and Nev’s the heir to two Most Ancient Houses.”

“Oh?” asked Draco. “Which ones, may I ask?”

Neville started, in order to give Harry some time to come up with an idea of how to spill his secret without having Ron blow up on him. “Longbottom and Gryffindor, both through blood.”

“Wow, well you’re definitely going to Gryffindor, Neville,” said Draco. Harry gave Neville a _look_.

“Through blood, I’m the heir to Potter, Black, and Peverell,” he started.

Ron and Draco had identical expressions of suspense.

“Okay, don’t freak out Ron. Through conquest, I’m the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of… Slytherin.”

Both their jaws dropped, but Draco recovered enough to say, “B-but you’ve only defeated… Oh. Wow, okay, I didn’t see that one coming. Isn’t every member of the House of Slytherin a Parselmouth, though?”

Harry stood up and rummaged through his trunk until he came up with his own leather satchel. He opened it, reached inside and pulled out Enya. Ron gave off a muffled squeak as his hand flew up to cover his mouth, whereas Draco looked awed.

Desperate to change the subject, Harry asked, “Ron, isn’t that Percy’s old rat?”

Ron nodded, and was probably about to go off on a rant on how useless the rat was, when the train pulled out of the station, so they spent the next minute waving goodbye to all the adults back on the platform.

The rest of the journey was spent, after he’d found out that Draco already knew occlumency and that Ron was willing to learn, with Harry explaining the truth about the horcrux, about all of the blocks that had been removed, and letting Draco pat Enya as he tried to teach him some basic parseltongue words.


	7. The Sorting Hat

Once the train got close enough to Hogwarts, they all quickly changed into their uniforms. A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Harry’s stomach lurched with nerves, and he saw that Neville was bouncing one of his legs up and down, Ron looked pale under his many freckles, and Draco looked as though he might faint, eyes closed tightly and muttering something under his breath. Unsure of what to do to make Draco feel better, he gently unclenched his fist and held it until his friend looked at him. “You are _not_ your father’s perfect muggle-hating son, you are Draco. You are my friend, and I’m pretty sure that you’re Nev’s and Ron’s friend now, too. I mean, Ron even started to call you Draco. You have a choice, so make the one that’s right for _you_ , not the easy one.”

Draco took a deep breath, and smiled wanly at Harry, finally withdrawing his hand from Harry’s as his face regained what little colour he had. They all crammed their pockets with the last of their sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down, and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cool night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice. He’d seen Hagrid over the summer sometimes, and a few times even in winter, and he considered him to be a very dear friend. “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! All right there, Harry?”

Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

“C’mon, follow me—any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!”

The slippery stone path was surrounded on all sides by tall trees, which eventually gave way to the edge of a huge, still lake. No one focussed on a tentacle sticking out of the lake though, because they were entranced by the sight of the castle, perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its many windows sparkling and yellow, echoing the brightly-shining stars hanging suspended in the black velvet sky.

Harry, Neville, Draco, and Ron all got into one of the boats sitting in the water, and the group sat back as they were (magically) ferried across the lake and landed on the opposite shore. They made their way behind Hagrid to a small door set into the stone. Hagrid knocked three times.

Once they’d been let through by a tall, stern, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes by the name of Professor McGonagall, they were led through the Entrance Hall and into a small, empty chamber just off it. She welcomed them to Hogwarts, telling them about the houses and the Sorting Ceremony. “I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting,” she said as she left the room to check that everything was ready for them.

Harry looked around and saw that everyone looked quite nervous, and no one was talking much except for a bushy-haired girl with large front teeth, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she’d learnt and wondering which ones she’d need.

Harry sidled up to her and whispered, “You won’t need any spells, you get sorted by the Sorting Hat.”

She looked at him in surprise, then asked, “How do you know? Everything I’ve read about Hogwarts never told me about any Sorting Hat.”

He smiled. “Muggleborn, then? Not to worry, I only know because my guardians told me, even though it’s tradition not to tell us. The Sorting Hat looks into your mind, sees which houses you’d be best in and which you’d prefer, and then Sorts you.”

Her previously rigid stance melted, and she smiled back at him gratefully. “Thank you. Yes, I’m muggleborn. My name’s Hermione Granger. Are you what they call a pureblood, then?”

He shook his head, but just as he was about to answer, a group of ghosts floated through the wall, talking about someone called Peeves. Finally, Professor McGonagall came back in, and led them into the Great Hall.

He’d often heard stories from his godfathers about how wonderful the Great Hall looked, but just like the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, seeing it was completely different. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

He looked up, and realised that the ceiling had been enchanted to look like the night sky, and he could hear Hermione whisper this to someone a bit farther back.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

“ _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
 _I'll eat myself if you can find_  
 _A smarter hat than me._  
 _You can keep your bowlers black,_  
 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_  
 _And I can cap them all._  
 _There's nothing hidden in your head_  
 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
 _So try me on and I will tell you_  
 _Where you ought to be._  
 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
 _Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
 _Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_  
 _Set Gryffindors apart;_  
 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
 _Where they are just and loyal,_  
 _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_  
 _And unafraid of toil;_  
 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
 _If you've a ready mind,_  
 _Where those of wit and learning,_  
 _Will always find their kind;_  
 _Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
 _You'll make your real friends,_  
 _Those cunning folk use any means_  
 _To achieve their ends._  
 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
 _And don't get in a flap!_  
 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_  
 _For I'm a Thinking Cap!”_

 

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Harry looked at each of his four friends, sending them encouraging glances, as Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause—

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.  
“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Fred and George Weasley catcalling.

“Bulstrode, Millicent” then became the first Slytherin.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Harry started. It seemed as though he’d missed some names. Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. He clapped for her, as she made her way to the Gryffindor table.

When Neville was called up, he held his breath. Just before it could be called a hatstall, the hat called, “GRYFFINDOR!”

He cheered for his friend, as did Ron and Draco, although some of the people looked at the latter strangely for that.

Draco walked forward when his name was called out, and this time, Harry crossed his fingers for Draco to get exactly what he wanted; which, he’d discussed on the train, was Gryffindor.

A long moment of silence, then finally, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hall was silent for a few seconds, then Ron, Harry, and Neville started clapping, which made the Gryffindor table come out of its stupor, and they started to clap and cheer, louder than they had for any of the previous ones.

Then at last, he heard, “Potter-Black, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

“They said Potter-Black, though.”

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. You’ve got quite a bit of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either, it takes quite a bit of intelligence to come up with a solution for Mr Malfoy, doesn’t it? There's talent, Oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?”

He decided to reason with the hat. “No one’s just one house, and even though I admit to having some attributes of the other houses, what I want most is Gryffindor,” he thought.

“And why would that be?” asked the voice.

“Three reasons. Draco needs me to stand with him against those who wish him harm, Neville needs me to remind him why he’s in Gryffindor, and also where better to learn how to fight Voldemort than in Gryffindor?”

“Hmm, yes. I like your reasoning. So, better be… GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat shouted the last word to the hall. The loudest cheers yet came from his table, with the twins shouting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

He took off the hat and made his way over to his table, sitting down in between Neville and Draco.

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair across from him, after he was pronounced a Gryffindor.

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” said Percy Weasley, who was sitting across from Harry, as “Zabini, Blaise,” was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

After Dumbledore’s unusual speech, food appeared on the table, and the four boys grabbed some food. Hermione leaned across the table towards Harry. “You never told me you were Harry Potter,” she said in a slightly offended tone.

Harry winced. “I was about to, but then the ghosts came in and…”

Hermione smiled to let him know he was forgiven, and he focussed on some of the other discussions at the table. Dean was interrogating the ghost with the ruff about how he came to be called ‘Nearly-Headless’, Seamus Finnigan and Neville were telling each other about their home lives, and Hermione had turned to Percy, asking him about classes. The only one who wasn’t talking, or eating in Ron’s case, was Draco. “You okay?” he asked him.

Draco looked up from his full plate and smiled easily. “Yeah. It’s just… I made it. I’m here, and I’m different, but I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen when Father finds out, you know?”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “Whatever happens, we’ll all be here for you. You heard McGonagall, your house is like your second family. We’ll all help you get through this.”

That left Draco grinning more than Harry had ever seen him, and they both started to eat, occasionally piping up some things for different conversations.

When Dumbledore got to his feet again, the Hall fell silent again. Harry listened to Dumbledore’s speech with more and more wariness, and when they sang the school song, he was almost relieved, although the cacophony that emerged was horrifying. “Ah, music,” Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry’s legs felt like lead, due to his tired and full-of-food state. They were introduced to Peeves, when he showed himself to them shortly before they got to the common room entrance. Once they’d gotten past him, they finally got to the end of the corridor, where a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress hung.

“Password?” she asked.

“Caput Draconis,” answered Percy, and the portrait swung forward.

They made their way into the common room, and Percy showed the boys where their dormitory was while a girl prefect showed the girls.

“Great food, isn’t it?” Ron muttered to the dorm in general, and there were several sleepy noises of assent. “Get off, Scabbers! He’s chewing on my sheets.”

Harry fell asleep quite quickly after that, and he was suddenly dreaming. Harry had only experienced one Magesighting to his knowledge before, and this dream felt eerily similar to it. One of the Professors he’d seen sitting at the head table, wearing a purple turban, was muttering something, standing in the corner of a sparsely appointed room, and Harry could hear faint hissing under the jumbled English. Harry could not move any closer; instead, his vision flickered to a locked door, then a stone that he knew he’d seen before, had painted it, even.

He woke up, shaking and in a cold sweat, rummaged about in his trunk before finding his dream notebook, and wrote the contents of his dream down, then settled back into bed. When he woke the next day, he didn’t remember the dream at all, but the writing remained.


	8. The Potions Master

The next day, Monday, classes were due to start. First, however, they had to get Draco mostly unharmed through breakfast. After finally finding their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Neville had to try to calm Draco down, as he had started to have a panic attack.

“Draco? Draco, look at me,” Harry said, Draco’s face in his hands.

Draco stared at him, eyes unseeing, lips going blue from lack of oxygen, and Harry was unsure of what to do, until a cold voice sounded behind him. “What is going on here? Draco?”

Harry whipped his head around quickly, and saw Neville cowering away from none other than Professor Snape. “Oh thank Merlin. Professor, he’s having a panic attack! What do I do?”

“Stand aside, child,” Snape muttered, reaching into his robes and retrieving a small flask of blue liquid. He reached past Harry and deftly poured it down Draco’s throat. Immediately, Draco took a huge gulp of air, and his eyes focussed on Harry. “What’s going on?” asked Draco.

Snape explained, using the most gentle voice Harry had ever heard him use. Then, Snape turned to him. “Mr Potter-Black, thank you. Ten points to Gryffindor for quick thinking.”

Gobsmacked, Harry watched him walk off, and he noticed that the other three boys were also wearing similar expressions.

Draco did not receive letters of any kind for most of that week.

*

Harry received a great many looks as soon as the four of them entered the Great Hall, and a fair few whispers could be heard coming from all directions. He had learned to ignore them pretty early on in his life, and he was sure that if he hadn’t been, the attention would have been overwhelming.

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the Malfoy, Weasley, and the chubby kid.”

“Wow! Did you see his face? His scar?”

Harry ignored all the attention. He was, sadly, used to it. Luckily, all of his dorm mates had decided to stick close to each other, and they formed a haphazard clump around him, preventing people from attempting to shake hands with him, or simply to touch him as though some of his ‘saviour-ness’ would rub off on them. Admittedly, this grouping of first-year Gryffindors provided a secondary use: navigation.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked them politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.

Everything seemed to move around of its own accord, so they had decided to take it in turns asking for directions, and that they had to ask at least two people before committing to one route. It had been Draco’s idea, and they all found it rather brilliant, since it minimised the amount of false information they might receive.

Sadly, the ghosts weren’t much help. The only one even remotely helpful to the new Gryffindors was Sir Nicholas. On the opposite side of the spectrum was Peeves, who would drop waste-paper baskets on your head, pull rugs out from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose and screech, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

The caretaker, Argus Filch, was a possible source of correct information, though. On their very first day, during their first ever free period, Harry spotted Filch sitting in an alcove near the library, broom discarded, and a crumpled letter in hand. He pointed this out to the other boys, and, after Ron complained that Filch was the one who gave Fred and George so many detentions, proceeded to sit down next to the man.

Filch looked up at him suspiciously, red nose running and puffy eyes squinting. “What d’you want?” he growled.

Draco, who had caught on to Harry’s idea of kindness maybe being the difference between just lost points and a gruelling detention, sat down on the floor facing Filch, and handed him a handkerchief.

Taken aback at the two boys’ silence, he took it and wiped his nose. Neville now leaned on the wall near him, and handed him a chocolate frog.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry softly.

This complete turnaround from his normal treatment caused him to burst into tears, and the other boys who had been reluctant to approach the gruff caretaker now crowded around him, offering support. In between blubbering and hiccoughs, Filch explained that his niece, who was a powerful witch, had lost her baby. About half an hour later, McGonagall was passing the alcove on her way to the library, and stopped dead when she saw the incredible sight of the six Gryffindors seated either on the floor or the bench, listening to an animated Filch with rapt attention as he told them about his niece’s first time on a broom, and how she’d nearly fallen off if it hadn’t been for a clump of air-bushes that he’d planted the day before. She had the distinct feeling that they had managed the monumental task of befriending the sullen man.

*

Finally, Friday arrived with much fanfare from the tired students and teachers alike, and Harry, Draco, and Neville managed to make it down the Great Hall without getting lost once. Ron had moaned and rolled over when they’d tried to wake him, so they’d left him behind.

To Draco’s elation, Harry’s excitement, and Neville’s dread, they all realised that their first lesson of the day would be double Potions with the Slytherins. Just then, the post arrived. Owls came streaming into the Hall, circling the tables until they found their owners, and dropping letters and packages into their laps.

Harry had gotten a care package from Sirius on the first morning, and had shared the contents amongst his friends, keeping the single book, that Remus had sent to him, for himself. That day, each of the three boys got something. Neville got a note from his Gran, summarising how the plants in his greenhouse were faring. Harry got a note from Hedwig, and he read the untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? Now that you’re living at Hogwarts like me, I want to hear all about your first week. Send us back an answer with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Draco’s quill and scribbled, _“Yes, please, see you later”_ on the back of the note, being given a sleepy death stare the whole time he was using it, and sent Hedwig off again.

Draco was sent a black envelope, carried by a black owl. He immediately turned pale when he saw it, and Harry was afraid he might have a panic attack again. He didn’t know what was in the envelope, but he would bet it was from his father. Harry looked up at the staff table, where Snape was already looking down at them, and motioned surreptitiously towards the dungeons. Snape nodded.

Harry whispered, “Draco, don’t open it here; Snape is letting us open it in the Potions classroom.”

Glassy-eyed, Draco nodded, and Harry and Neville helped him stand.

Once they were in the classroom, having been let in by Snape, Draco collapsed into a desk near the back. He opened it with shaking fingers, read the first sentence, then shut down. He simply sat there, and let it fall from his fingers. As Harry and Snape rushed to comfort Draco, Neville picked up the letter from the ground, leaving the envelope. “Father. H-he’s disowned me. For being a _Gryffindor,_ ” said Draco softly.

Harry closed his eyes and gathered the boy in his arms as he broke down. When he opened them, his eyes went from Neville, who also had tears in his eyes, to Snape, who looked suspiciously misty-eyed. “You are not what I expected, Mr Potter-Black,” Snape said softly.

Knowing Draco was dead to the world, Harry replied, “Well, the last time we met was seven years ago, which was way before the blocks had been removed. I was a very different person then.”

Snape’s forehead furrowed. “Blocks?”

Harry quickly and quietly explained. For some reason, perhaps his Magesight, he trusted Snape immensely. What also helped was the darkening expression as Harry’s tale unfolded.

When it got to fifteen minutes until the start of class, Draco’s crying had faded into the occasional hiccup. Snape took one look at Draco’s puffy face and summoned a salve, which he handed to him, and Draco applied it without fuss. The swelling disappeared almost immediately. Seeing potions and magic work, Harry thought, was always incredible.

“You three,” Snape started, “While I may tolerate you outside of classes, you need to understand that I must appear to loathe Gryffindors. Particularly you, Mr Potter-Black, so do not take anything I say towards you as fact. It is merely a front.”

The three nodded, and as Harry looked down, he saw another piece of paper sticking out of the envelope on the ground. He picked it up, skim-read it to check for any more bad news, and then handed it to Draco. It seemed that the only one to disown him was Lucius; Narcissa had refused, giving Draco a vault in the Black name, so his surname was now that. An idea formed in Harry’s head, one that could only be realised if Sirius agreed with it. First things first, however. Harry told him about his vision, then handed Snape the lidded container of Keyfrog venom, and Neville let out a guffaw once he realised what it was. Snape raised an eyebrow.

*

Potions class had been just as painful as Snape had promised it would be, but at least he’d had tea with Hagrid to look forward to. He’d asked Draco, Neville, Ron, and Hermione if they’d like to come with him, and all but Ron agreed. Ron said that he had gotten to sleep very late the last night, because of the “stupid homework” McGonagall had given them, and so had decided to spend his free afternoon catching up on his sleep.

The visit with Hagrid went splendidly, even though the rock cakes almost broke their teeth, Hagrid’s boarhound Fang drooled all over their robes, and Harry finding out that Gringotts had been broken into on his birthday wasn’t nice either. Hagrid not answering any of his questions, except that it had been he who had emptied the vault for Dumbledore on Hogwarts business, was slightly infuriating. The whole thing just itched to be discovered, but Harry absolved himself to the fact that if the mysterious object was now at Hogwarts, that meant it was safe from the thief. Right?


	9. The Midnight Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone mentioned wanting to see Dumbledore's reaction to Harry's wand, so I just quickly added that in.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

*Dumbledore’s POV*

Dumbledore was… concerned. Yes, that suited him. Concerned. The staff meeting that he was sitting in at the moment had been terribly dull, up until they got to the first-years. He had wanted to know how Harry was doing in classes, for there was only so much he could discern from the various portraits around the castle. The professors, rather than stating that he was simply mediocre, or didn’t bring attention to himself, as it should be with the blocks, each of them gushed about how he, Neville Longbottom, and that Malfoy brat were all extremely proficient in their classes. Well, all except Severus, that is. Ever dour, he said that Harry was not up to his standards, that Longbottom was abysmal, and that Malfoy, out of all of the Gryffindors, showed the most hope for any talent at Potions. Then again, that was normal for Severus; only praising his house, and leaving the rest to rot.

Then, something terrible had happened. Filch told his tale of how astonishingly kind the group of Gryffindors had been, and that he was positive that this had been true Gryffindor courage. Filius Flitwick then piped up, saying how it proved that he was a brilliant match for his wand, and that he’d been surprised to learn that Harry’s wand hadn’t come from Ollivander’s. This made him sit up quickly.

“Filius, did I hear you right? Our Harry did not purchase his wand there?” he asked.

“A tiny store called… erm… Morgana’s—no, Morwenna’s Wands. That’s it,” squeaked the tiny professor.

This did not bode well. “What wand did he receive, then?” he questioned.

“A nice English Oak, with—get this—a dual core of phoenix and thunderbird tail feathers! So incredibly unique!”

As soon as he got back to his office, he thought savagely, he was going to trash it so that it took hours for the house-elves to clean it up.

*Harry’s POV*

Harry didn’t know what he’d done to cause someone to dislike him as much as Anthony Goldstein did. It must have been terrible though, because he couldn’t seem to escape from the other boy’s sneers and thinly-veiled insults. It didn’t help that the Gryffindors shared not two, but three classes with the Ravenclaws (Transfiguration, History, and Astronomy), or that the only day they didn’t have any classes with them was on Friday.

The next stage in their antagonistic relationship came when, just after Transfiguration had finished on Thursday the week after Draco’s disownment, Goldstein stole the Remembrall Neville had received that day during breakfast.

“Aww, aren’t you just lucky, Longbottom? Mummy and Daddy must surely _love_ you if they’re willing to help you get over your flaws of ignorance and bad memory, and give you this,” Goldstein said in a saccarine voice.

Neville had gone an angry red, and Harry and Draco linked their arms with his to hold him back. “Give it here, Goldstein,” said Harry in a deathly quiet voice.

He cocked his head to the side. “Or what, Potter? Are you gonna go complain to McGonagall?”

“No, but I might just set you on fire. And it’s Potter-Black.”

Goldstein let out a snort. Terry Boot had been trying to pull him away from the confrontation, but was so far unsuccessful, as Anthony kept shrugging him off. “In your dreams, Potter,” he said, completely ignoring the second part of Harry’s statement, “as if you could cast a fire spell.”

“He can!” exclaimed Neville. “I’ve seen him do it. He’s ten times the wizard you’ll ever be.”

“Willing to put what your little friend says to the test?”

“Why would I need to prove anything to you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to, of course, but then again, a Gryffindor wouldn’t say no to a wizard’s duel, would they?”

“No, they wouldn’t,” agreed Harry, “but I’m not an ordinary Gryffindor.”

That seemed to have made Goldstein see red. “You’re not any kind of Gryffindor if you won’t even participate in a simple duel. I name my second as Terry. Who’s yours?” he asked. Terry squawked when his name came up.

Harry rolled his eyes, enjoying riling up the boy even more as he did so. “Fine, Goldstein. I’ll participate in your little game. My second’s Draco, and Neville can be the mediator.”

The other boy had just opened his mouth to make a retort, probably about it not being a game, but stopped short at Harry’s raised eyebrow and nodded. “Fine. Trophy room, tonight at midnight. That place is never locked.”

Harry, Draco, and Neville watched as he stormed off, face flame-red in agitation, and as soon as he’d rounded a corner, they burst out laughing. “D-did you see his face?” Neville choked out.

Weak at the knees, Draco rested his hands on them in order to keep himself standing, and nodded. “He-he looked like an offended _peacock!_ ”

They all laughed harder.

*

After Defence finished, the three rushed out of the castle, and into the grounds, making their way to an even stretch of grass opposite to the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherins, with whom they were sharing the lesson, were already there, as were twenty broomsticks, which were lying on the ground. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns.

The school brooms laid out on the ground looked, unfortunately, just as Fred and George had described them; old, with twigs sticking out at unnatural angles, and looked as though their charms had gone slightly off, making them likely to vibrate or fly in the wrong direction when in the air.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived shortly after they did, preventing any antagonism between Pansy Parkinson and Draco, as the former had started storming over to the latter. The professor had short grey hair, and yellow, hawk-like eyes.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old, but looked like one of the better ones of the bunch, which wasn’t saying much.

“Stick out your righ hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say, ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

Harry’s and Draco’s jumped into their hands at once, but they were some of the few that did. Hermione’s had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s had got halfway up, before deciding it wasn’t worth it.

Neville’s command worked the second time he tried though, and once everyone had managed to get their brooms into their hands, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips.

Finally, they were allowed into the air, although they had to touch back down almost instantly. After that had been done a few times, Hooch took them through a short series of drills that she said produced ease and familiarity with one’s broom.

Once their lesson was over, Harry was feeling relaxed. If Anthony wanted them to shoot sparks at each other in the middle of the night, then so be it.

When they got back to the common room, Ron unknowingly distracted them by starting a screaming match with Dean, over whether Quidditch was better than football. Having played and watched the two of them, he could say that he liked them both, but that he enjoyed playing Quidditch more, because it gave him much more of an adrenaline rush due to the added danger of being so high in the air.

Harry went up to his dormitory and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak that Sirius had given him the day before he left for Hogwarts, saying that it used to belong to his father, and that he expected Harry and his friends to carry on the Marauders’ pranking legacy.

There was no chance that he wanted them to get caught, so they waited patiently for the common room to be empty, and after the twins had departed around quarter to twelve, yawning, the three made their way through the empty common room and to the portrait hole.

“I hope you’re not actually thinking of going to that ridiculous duel, are you?” asked Hermione quietly behind them.

“I don’t know,” Harry said drily as Draco and Neville jumped in surprise, “I think it’ll be fun. There’s no way that he can hurt me, we don’t know enough spells, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to physically attack me during a _magical duel_.”

She huffed. “You can’t think that he’ll show up. I mean, last I heard, Goldstein may be crude, but he’s not stupid enough to go where he might be caught by Filch. Don’t you _care_ about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves? _I_ don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and if you do this, there’s a very high chance you might lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

Draco stepped in. “It’s not even Hallowe’en yet, and you’re already thinking about the House Cup? Besides, if he doesn’t show, then we’ll get a free adventure out of it. Don’t you think that looking around the castle at night might be the slightest bit interesting?”

That’s beside the point—”

“Is it?” asked Neville.

“Well… I… um…”

“That settles it,” said Draco happily, “since we can’t have you tattle, you’ll just have to join us. Harry, will all four of us fit under it?”

“Barely.”

They dragged her to the portrait hole, where Harry shook out the Cloak, and explained to Hermione what it was. Her eyes shining, she asked, “Really? How does it work?”

Laughing, Draco said, “That’s something you’re going to have to find out for yourself. In the meantime, let’s put it on.”

As Harry had predicted, it barely covered all four of them, but cover them it did, and they made their way out of the common room, down several flights of stairs, until they got to the door that would lead them to the trophy room. Fortunately, before they could enter, they heard the low, rasping voice of Filch. “Anyone else here, my sweet? He said there would be others. If he was lying, I’ll make sure he’s punished more. Sniff around, they might be lurking in a corner somewhere.”

Horror-struck, the other three followed him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch’s voice. Harry was sure that the rapport they’d managed to build with him wouldn’t extend this far. They began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They heard Filch exit the trophy room, coming nearer. Hermione suddenly let out a frightened squeak when she spotted him, and tried to run. Neville grabbed her by the waist, only just preventing her from running face-first into a suit of armour as they turned another corner. Unfortunately, this corridor was currently being occupied by Peeves, who was gleefully using red paint to draw moustaches and other things on the suits of armour occupying the niches in the walkway. He spotted their shoes sticking out from the entangled Cloak, and gave a very loud squeal of delight.

“Shut up, Peeves—please— you’ll get us thrown out.”

Peeves cackled madly.

“Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Draco, taking off the Cloak and swiping at Peeves—this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THIS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, galloping down one corridor, then another, Harry in the lead without any idea of where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry, found they were in a hidden passageway, and stopped, listening for any footsteps or wheezing.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” they heard Filch saying from not far off. “Quick, tell me!”

“Say ‘please’.”

“Don’t mess about, Peeves, now _where did they go?_ ”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say ‘please’,” said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

“All right—please.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you don’t say please! Ha ha haaaaaa!” They heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

They slipped quietly down the passageway, and when they stumbled out the other side, Harry was confronted with _the door_.

He grabbed at Draco’s robes, and pointed at it. Draco looked back and forth between Harry and the door, and a sudden dawning realisation caused him to gasp. “This one? Are you sure?”

Neville joined the conversation. “We’ve been searching for it since day one, and it’s been the forbidden door all this time?”

Hermione was confused. “What? What’s going on with this door?”

“You might as well know,” said Neville, checking with the two other boys, who nodded. He quickly gave her a run down of Harry’s Magesight vision.

Meanwhile, Harry had walked over to the door, and tried the handle. “Does anyone know an unlocking spell?”

Hermione’s hand shot up, then she lowered it again, face glowing. Smirking slightly, Harry nodded for her to try. Pushing up the sleeves of her pink nightie, she pulled out her wand.

“Alohomora,” she intoned gently.

The lock clicked and the door swung open—putting them face to sleeping faces with a gigantic Cerberus. They had one shocked moment to regard it, then its nose twitched, and its six eyes fluttered. They backed out of the doorway quickly, and Hermione magically locked the door again.

“This just heightens the mystery,” Harry muttered.

“Write to Pads,” Neville suggested.

“Pads?” Draco and Hermione asked simultaneously.

“My godfather, Sirius Black. His nickname in school used to be Padfoot, but it’s such a mouthful for a little kid, that he let me call him Pads. My other godfather, Remus, I just call Moony. That was his nickname.”

“Rather unusual nicknames. How’d they get them?” asked Hermione.

Harry gave her a half-smile. “I might tell you someday. Not now, though, I’m too tired.”

As they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower under the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione asked quietly, “Was I the only one who noticed that the three-headed dog was lying on a trap door?”

“I saw it,” Draco confessed, “do you think that this means it’s guarding that ruby thing?”

Harry, Neville, and Hermione nodded, and the four made their way past the sleepy Fat Lady’s portrait and into their respective dorms, deep in thought.


	10. Hallowe'en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hallowe'en to you all! Joyous Samhain to those in the northern hemisphere, and happy Beltane to those in the southern hemisphere!  
> I'm in Australia, and it's actually Hallowe'en right now. Completely coincidental, I assure you.  
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

The trio laughed themselves silly when they heard that Goldstein had gotten a week’s worth detention from Filch, and that Terry hadn’t because he’d chickened out, telling Goldstein that he’d do fine by himself. They managed to avoid getting detention from an irate McGonagall by telling her that they hadn’t actually thought he was being serious, and that they’d been asleep long before they’d been supposed to meet. Hermione confirmed their story, saying that she’d seen them go up to their dorm at around nine, and that she’d stayed up another hour and a half, reading up on rare magical creatures.

As it turned out, this was her way of telling the trio that she was working on why there was a Cerberus hidden in the school, and that she would appreciate help from them. Harry didn’t see the harm in finding out the extra information, he just didn’t want to get into trouble for being somewhere they shouldn’t have been, so during lunch, they hastily stuffed down some sandwiches and made their way to the library. Unfortunately, their search quickly came to an end when Professor Snape spotted them in the library, surrounded by books on violent magical creatures.

“I know for a fact that the four of you cannot take Care of Magical Creatures for another two years, so would one of you kindly explain why you are searching tirelessly through books on,” he said as he picked up a random book and became deathly still, “the legendary Cerberus?”

They looked at each other, wincing, and Harry knew he would have to tell him everything, since he was a stronger legilimens than they were occlumens, and he was the only teacher they could trust to be as impartial as possible.

“Not… not here, sir. It’s too open,” Harry said, glancing pointedly at a portrait on the wall.

Snape raised one sardonic eyebrow, noticing Harry’s look, but waved his wand to return the books to their original positions and motioned for them to follow. He led them through the winding corridors that made up the dungeons, until he placed his palm on what appeared to be solid wall. It shimmered and became a wooden door, then opened, and Snape led them inside.

“Well?” he questioned as soon as everyone had taken a seat in the surprisingly comfortable sitting room in his quarters.

“I have Magesight,” Harry started, shocking the professor out of his typical scowl, “and the first night here, I Saw a vision.”

“Of what?” Snape asked, enthralled in the mystery.

“Of Professor Quirrell, muttering to himself in a corner, then a door, and finally a ruby surrounded by fire. I Saw the ruby once before, on my tenth birthday, before my blocks were removed. Last night, the four of us _did_ go out to meet Goldstein, but he didn’t show and we were almost caught by Filch and Peeves. We escaped, and we ended up in front of the door, which turned out to be the one in the forbidden corridor. I wanted to see what was inside, so Hermione said a spell and we saw a Cerberus sleeping. We locked it again and went back to the tower.”

Through the story, Snape had been getting more and more pale, and when Harry stopped, he cleared his throat and said in a rather hoarse voice, “You… have told no one else?”

All four shook their heads, and Draco stated, “Harry doesn’t trust Dumbledore, or Quirrell, and our Head of House seems the type to take points but ignore the danger.”

Neville added, “Out of the remaining teachers, you’re the only one who already knows some of Harry’s secrets, and all four of us trust you to some extent.”

Their professor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr Potter-Black, you understand that I must inform your guardians of this? I do believe they will be understanding, as they, along with your father, were insufferable rule-breakers as well.”

Harry grinned. “I sent them a letter on the first full day, because they made me promise that I would tell them if I had a vision, and I also sent them one this morning, to tell them about the Cerberus.”

Snape merely shook his head in mock annoyance, then turned to Draco. “I shall inform your mother, since I think she would want to know about you risking your life in such a manner. I… doubt she will inform your father. As for you two,” he said to Neville and Hermione, “since I have no personal contacts with your families, and you have _technically_ been cleared by Professor McGonagall, I shall not inform them. You must all promise me, though, not to go looking for that information again.”

They nodded, and Harry said softly, “One more thing, professor. I think Quirrell was muttering in Parseltongue, since I could hear faint hissing under his words, and that’s the way I hear the language; English, with hissing undertones. I… I thought it was a rare blood-trait, and Voldemort had it. Does that mean Quirrel _is_ Voldemort?”

Snape and Draco flinched when Harry said the name, and Neville and Hermione looked pale.

*Snape’s POV*

He breathed a sigh of relief after his godson and his friends had left to prepare for their next classes. Harry’s (for he called him Harry in his mind now) revelations had come with a mixture of surprise and resignation. Dumbledore had been adamant about announcing the forbidden corridor at the Welcoming Feast, to lay a trap for the Dark Lord, who he insisted was still alive. Of course, he’d known this was true, both because his Dark Mark hadn’t faded completely, and because of Harry’s previous admittance to having one of His horcruxes removed.

He’d known Quirrell had been sketchy when the former Muggle Studies Professor had returned from his holiday in Albania with that stutter, purple turban, and ever-constant odour of garlic, but the possibility of him being possessed by the wraith of the Dark Lord was terrifying. He’d have to keep an eye on him, and keep him away from the Stone for as long as possible. He should also consider telling Dumbledore of his suspicions, just leaving Harry’s part in confirming them out.

He stood up with a groan, and made his way towards the Floo. Lucius was most likely in a Wizengamot meeting, so that left Narcissa in the clear. He grabbed a handful of the green, chalky powder, threw it in, and stated, “Malfoy Manor,” then stuck his head in.

“Severus,” said Narcissa’s voice in surprise.

“Narcissa,” he nodded, “may I come through? I have news of Draco.”

She quickly disabled the anti-Floo wards and stepped aside to let him through. As soon as he was free from the Floo’s entryway, she rushed towards him, holding onto the sides of his arms powerfully. “How is he? Is he safe? Has he made any friends? Is he settling in to Gryffindor?”

“Narcissa, slow down,” he said fondly.

She took a deep breath and then stepped away from him, and he couldn’t help but feel the loss (Unusual, he thought, for him to be sentimental like that). “What news, Severus?” she asked, emotions under control once more.

“Draco is fine. Yes, he is safe, and he has become fast friends with Harry Potter-Black, Neville Longbottom, and the brilliant muggleborn, Hermione Granger. He has settled into Gryffindor well… perhaps a bit too well considering that he foolishly risked his life last night.”

She gasped, and she was back to clutching at his robes again. “What? What did he do?”

“There is a forbidden corridor on the third floor,” he started. He decided quickly on the level of information she would need to know. “He and his friends decided to wander through it and open the only door there, unlocking it with an _alohomora_. Honestly, such a simple spell, for what was inside. They found Dumbledore’s latest anti-dark scheme, which starts with a huge Cerberus of Hagrid’s whom he calls Fluffy. Luckily, the creature was sleeping, and they locked it again before going back to their dormitory. They only told me of this, because I found them researching the creatures.”

She shook her head, eyes wide, made her way feebly to the nearest chair, and sat on it. He joined her on a neighbouring one, and after giving her a few minutes’ silence to process, he said in false cheerfulness, “So, how have you been?”

*Switch back to Harry's POV*

On Hallowe’en morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin. Even Enya had to admit it smelled nice, although she said it would smell even better along with a few dead mice.

Yuck.

Harry’s dormmates had all reacted differently to her presence: Neville was resigned, having already gotten to know her; Draco was a bit jealous, spending a lot of time peppering Harry with requests to learn Parseltongue; Ron complained at first, but got used to the hissing pretty quickly; and Dean and Seamus were mixtures of cautious, intrigued, and a bit disgusted, but they quickly got over the latter.

However, despite Professor Flitwick announcing that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they’d all been dying to learn since he’d made Neville’s toad fly around the classroom, Harry wasn’t really in the mood, since it was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. He tried to put aside his melancholy behaviour as Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry’s partner was Seamus, Neville was with Draco, and Ron was with Hermione. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this arrangement, because neither had warmed up to the other, despite both of them hanging out with Harry frequently.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his usual pile of books. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and filck. And saying the magic properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the ground with a buffalo on his chest.”

After a few minutes of fruitless swish-and-flicking, Seamus got so impatient that he prodded their feather with the tip of his wand and, accidental pyromaniac that he was, set fire to it. Ron, two tables down, didn’t have much more luck, and Hermione’s advice only served to make him angrier. So angry, in fact, that he moaned to his dorm mates as they pushed their way through the crowded corridor outside, “It’s no wonder no one can stand her, she’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. He caught a glimpse of her face, and realised that she must have heard Ron, for she was in tears.

“I think she heard you.”

“So?” said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. “She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.”

Neville stopped dead. “That’s not true!” he exclaimed. “I’m her friend, and so are Draco and Harry! You can’t just go around, saying horrible things like that about people!”

He stormed off, and Harry and Draco followed him. When she didn’t turn up for the next class, the trio was worried, and so instead of going to lunch after, they went to find Fred and George. The twins were known for knowing where everyone and everything was, so they were the trio’s starting point.

“What can we do for you, little lions?” asked the twins simultaneously.

“We need to know where Hermione went. Ron insulted her when he thought she wasn’t there, and she heard it, started to cry, and she wasn’t in Herbology just then. Do you two know where she is?”

The two looked at each other, then said, “We can help you, but you have to… solemnly swear that you won’t tell anyone how we do this.”

They nodded, and George pulled out an old bit of parchment. “I solemnly swear, that I am up to no good,” he said, tapping it with his wand, and ink faded into being, forming the words, _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present the Marauder’s Map_.

“Moony? Padfoot?” asked Draco, astounded. “Aren’t those the nicknames of your godfathers?”

Harry nodded. “Prongs was my dad, and Wormtail was the traitor. They formed a group called the Marauders in school, and they pranked people like crazy.”

Fred and George had their mouths wide open. “What? Sirius and Remus are… wow. All this time, they were right under our noses. Okay, after we’ve got Hermione back, you’ve got to invite us over sometime. Then, I think we might consider handing this over to you,” Fred said, and George nodded ecstatically.

The five boys looked over the map, and finally found her in a girl’s bathroom. They made their way down to it, and Fred took on the task of convincing her to come out. “Hermione?” he called gently.

“Go away! How did you find me?” they heard her voice say.

“Which one is it?” Fred asked cheekily.

“Ugh.” was her only reply.

Fred winked, entered the bathroom and said, “The little trio told Forge and me what happened, and asked for our help to find you. I know it’s not the same thing, but I’m sorry for what Ickle Ronnikins said to you, and I’m pretty sure the trio are too. Harry told me on the way here that the three of them, Neville mostly, stood up for you as soon as you left, and then left him.”

“R-really?” she hiccuped.

Fred’s voice was closer to hers now, and they heard the sound of a cubicle door opening. “Really, Hermione. Come on, give us a hug. That’s it. You have friends, you know. Quite a few of them, from the looks of your rescue party.”

It took a few more minutes of Fred calming her down for her to emerge, but when she did, she gratefully embraced Harry, Draco, Neville, and George in turn. The twins showed them the way to the kitchens, where they had a short lunch before the four first-years went to collect their Transfiguration and Defence books.

The rest of the day was eventful, to say the least, with Ron shuffling over and apologising to her quickly, and then the wonderful feast. Or rather, the feast _was_ wonderful up until Quirrell ran into the Great Hall, screaming about trolls, and fainted. Still, the aftermath feast in their common rooms was nice, and Hermione stuck closer to the trio than before. It seemed that she now knew they thought of her as their friend, and she reciprocated the feeling.

That night, Harry couldn’t sleep properly, both due to the bad mood he’d pushed away at the beginning of the day, and due to something he’d seen in passing on the map, and had discounted immediately as impossible. However, he couldn’t help but remember Sirius’ stories about all the unbelievable stuff they’d seen, and later confirmed as true, when they’d had the map. Quietly, so as not to disturb the person in question, he got out of bed and got both his cloak and the map out of his trunk. He crept down the stairs to the common room and sat on one of the armchairs. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Harry sat there, stunned, as betrayal and anger swept through him like a storm. He felt his magic crackling all around him violently, but his emotions were stopped instantly when two arms wrapped themselves over his shoulders, and Draco asked, “What’s up? You look really angry.”

Not trusting his voice, he pointed at Peter Pettigrew’s dot on the map. Draco gasped. “Wasn’t he the one who betrayed your parents? How is he next to Ron?”

Harry nodded, then found his voice. “It’s Scabbers. My dad, Sirius, and Pettigrew all became Animagi for Moony, because he was forcefully turned into a werewolf by Greyback when he was five. Pettigrew, a rat; Sirius, a Grim hound; and my dad, a stag. I need to find a way to get him to the Ministry.”

Draco thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers and said, “Dobby!”

A house-elf much younger than Kreacher showed up with a soft pop. “What can Dobby do for Master Draco?”

“Wait,” said Harry, “I thought you wouldn’t be able to contact Malfoy house-elves since you’re disowned.”

Draco nodded. “Dobby was my house-elf, though. I called him a while ago just to see if his bond made him mine or Father’s.” He turned to the miniscule elf and said, “Dobby, please conjure a cage with wiring too small for a very skinny rat to fit through. Enforce it so that the animal contained in it cannot transform out of its animagus form.”

“Of course, Master Draco!” the creature squeaked, and with a small amount of concentration, a small cage appeared with a pop.

“Thank you, Dobby. Any Dark behaviour from Father?” Draco asked.

Dobby shook his head quickly, causing his bat-like ears to flap back and forth. Draco sighed in relief, and dismissed him. Evidently, Draco had tasked the house-elf to see whether anything bad was going to come from his father, for which Harry couldn’t fault him.

Cage in hand, they went back up to their dorm, stunned Scabbers, wrote a hasty anonymous note to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and snuck up to the owlery. They watched in silence as Hedwig carried an explanation to Harry’s godparents, and Draco’s owl Titan carried the cage containing Pettigrew to the Ministry.

Once they’d returned to bed, Harry fell asleep quickly, content. It had been ten years to the day since Pettigrew’s betrayal had caused the death of his parents, and now, the traitor was finally apprehended and brought to justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I won't be updating for the next two weeks, since my exams are in that time period, and uni is more important at the moment, sorry.  
> So, expect an update on the 21st of November.


	11. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaawlrighty then! As promised, Chapter 11 on this fine day (Australia, so it's the 21st for me now), and I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions of this chapter, as well as any suggestions you have for further chapters. If I can fit said suggestions in, and they fit with my idea of the fic, I'll add them in.
> 
> Enjoy!

The next day, the headline of the _Daily Prophet_ screamed: _**PETER PETTIGREW CAUGHT AT LAST!**_

Harry and Draco decided not to read it, since they both had similar disparaging opinions of the rag, and they both knew what had happened anyway. They found it both concerning and amusing that Ron complained for weeks on end about Scabbers missing, but found they couldn’t bring themselves to reveal the truth about the rat. It was just another thing that made Harry, Draco, and later Neville and Hermione to feel like they were being separated from their friend.

As time went on, the whispers about, and sad but curious looks toward, Harry slowed down and stopped, and Harry found himself able to breathe again in the old castle he considered a second home.

*

The weather suddenly turned icy once they’d entered November. The mountains surrounding Hogwarts became dirty grey, and the lake looked like chilled steel. Every morning, without fail, the grounds were covered in frost, and Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows, defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch pitch, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit-fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, the first match, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, would be played. If Gryffindor won, they would move up to second place in the House Championship. Harry had seen Gryffindor’s team captain, Oliver Wood, training his team to the absolute limit; they would come back wet and muddy, and the only one who had a smile on their face was Wood, and his was one of fanaticism.

Hermione had truly become one of their little group now, and she was a bit more relaxed about breaking rules (although that was mostly Fred and George’s doing; she’d accidentally mentioned a prank she’d done on her parents, and they couldn’t wait to try it out on the whole school, so they’d taken her under their wing). The day before the first Quidditch match, the four of them were out in one of the courtyards during lunch break, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire which could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the courtyard, limping. Draco noticed the unusual movement immediately, and ran over, shouting, “Uncle—Professor!”

Snape looked up from the ground he was scowling at, and his face broke out into a somewhat reluctant smile. “Draco, you know it’s best not to call me that outside my rooms.”

Draco skidded to a stop, nodding, and asked timidly, “Wh-what happened?”

Snape pinched his nose. “I was… bitten during a rather idiotic plan I had.”

This caused the other three to come closer, eager for a story. When Snape raised his head again, he groaned when he saw the keen looks on all four of their faces. “Not here. If you absolutely must know, which I am quite sure you do _not_ , you may come to my rooms tonight at eight, no earlier.”

Draco took a chance and lauched himself at his godfather, hugging him quickly, then backing off before he’de even realised that he’d been hugged. Snape mock growled, and reached down to tousle Draco’s perfectly maintained hair. A shocked yelp came from Draco, and Neville, Hermione, and Harry started giggling. Hermione had never seen Draco’s hair look anything but well-kept, but the boys got to see it _very_ messy every morning, as Draco had a tendency to toss and turn as he slept. Harry preferred Draco’s hair messy, but maybe that was because his own hair couldn’t even be tamed by Sleekeazy’s.

*

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Neville, Ron, Draco, and Hermione sat together next to a window, doing homework. Or rather, Harry, Neville, and Draco were doing their Transfiguration homework, and a reluctant Hermione was checking through Ron’s Charms homework. The trio was fortunate, each of them excelled in different areas, and would often help one another for their least favourite subject, and if they didn’t know something, they could go to Hermione. Ron, however, was of the opinion, ‘if it’s due next week, I’ll do it the night before’, and could frequently be found panicking over a difficult essay topic. The four would never let him copy their homework (“How will you learn?”), but sometimes found themselves outmanoevred when he asked them to read it through and edit it, so he got the right answers anyway.

Ten minutes to eight, the four made their excuses to Ron, saying Snape wanted to see them about last week’s homework, and got up, walking out of the common room single file.

“Rather you than me,” Ron muttered, the end of his quill being chewed beyond repair in his mouth.

Draco led the way through the winding corridors, and finally placed his hand on the disguised door.

Snape was inside, hand grasping a steaming mug of tea, and his leg looked freshly bandaged.

“Tea?” he asked, brooding about something.

The four exchanged a look, shrugged, and each made themselves a cup of tea, settling down into the spots they’d occupied the last time they’d all been here together. They waited with bated breath, and were not disappointed when Snape muttered, “Blasted thing. How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

“The Cerberus did this?” asked Neville, horror apparent in his voice.

“Unfortunately yes, Mr Longbottom.”

There were appalled questions of, “How?”, “When?”, and “Why?” from the three others.

Snape held up the hand not holding his tea. “Settle down. If you will let me explain, you will not come to any wrong conclusions,” he said, adjusting his robe so it hid his leg. “Now, you recall the troll on Hallowe’en?”

They nodded. “Professor Quirrell is very good with trolls. One might even say he has a… gift for ‘handling’ them. As soon as he came in that door, screaming about that bloody troll, I knew that he must have let it in, for he should have been able to handle it easily enough on his own.”

He took a sip of tea, and continued. “Mr—Harry. I remembered what you said about him, and said to myself that he was up to something. I followed him, and when he made his way into the forbidden corridor, I entered shortly after him. He was trying to get past that blasted dog, and I rescued him from almost certain death, getting this,” he motioned to his leg, “for my troubles. When questioned as to what I was doing there, I said I was in the process of making sure all students were in their common rooms. I am unsure as to whether he believed me or not.”

Tale finished, he scowled down at his tea again, and the four were left, sipping their teas in a contemplative silence. “I believe you,” said Draco at last. The other three nodded their assent to Draco’s statement, and the four children and the adult spent the hour until curfew talking about Potions, with Neville being offered a week’s tutoring by an extremely reluctant Snape.

*

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. By eleven o’clock, the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars, since it was difficult to see what was going on sometimes, even if the seats were raised high in the air.

The trio and Hermione joined Ron, Seamus, and Dean up in the top row. Dean, who was good at drawing as well, had teamed up with Harry to draw a large banner, saying _Go Gryffindor_ , as well as a huge Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch waiting for the two teams, her broom in hand. Gryffindor exited their changing rooms first, and then Slytherin.

“Now I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said once they were all gathered around her.

“Seems to be talking mostly to Flint,” muttered Draco past his pure silver omnioculars. Marcus Flint was a fifth year who looked as though he had some troll blood in him, and he had the temper (and probably the intelligence) to match.

“Mount your brooms, please.”

The two teams did, and Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Sixeen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins’ friend, was doing the (slightly biased) commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle. Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle, and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he’s going to sc—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood, and Gryffindor take the Quaffle—that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint...”

Harry stopped listening to Lee’s commentary for a second, and watched through his binoculars, half in horror, half in glee, as the Snitch hovered directly next to the head of the Gryffindor Seeker, Warren Tate. He turned his head back to the Chaser’s moves just in time to see Johnson score. Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans coming from the Slytherins.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Harry and Draco squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck, “but it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,” said Ron.

“Not from the Seekers, but I saw it hovering right next to Tate’s nose!” Harry complained.

Hagrid let out a bark of laughter. “Oh Harry, I can’t wait ‘til you try out. Yeh’ll smash all the competition to smithereens!”

“Slytherin in posession,” Lee was saying. “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds off towards the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. Tate and Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, both on opposite sides of the pitch, dived towards the little streak of gold. Neck and neck they hurtled towards the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch.

Luckily, even though in Harry’s opinion the two seekers were both pretty bad, Tate seemed to be just the tiniest bit faster, and seemed to be making headway. The Gryffindor Chasers came out of their stupor, and scored twice more, since the Slytherin ones were still a bit sluggish.

Finally, after the Snitch had disappeared and reappeared twice more, Tate caught it while Higgs was on the opposite side of the pitch again. “Yes!” Lee shouted jovially. “Seeker Tate catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins, with one hundred and ninety points to seventy!”

Their victory resulted in a very rambunctious party in Gryffindor Tower, which lasted until three in the morning.


	12. Christmas at Grimmauld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't update yesterday! I was so very busy yesterday, and the fact that it was my update day completely slipped my mind! Here you go, though, the chapter, as promised.
> 
> Note: This chapter has a very small reference to the video game Monster Hunter. The Nibelsnarf, as it is called there, does not look anything like what I've described here, since the name gave me the inspiration for something that sounds that some sort of creature that Luna would believe in. This chapter is dedicated to my brother, whose fascination with Monster Hunter finally paid off.

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid, and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban (This prank had actually been inspired by Draco, who had complained that it was too cold outside for snowball fights). The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the common rooms and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy, and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were the dungeons, where, during Snape’s classes, their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

After much debating, it had been settled that Draco, the Longbottoms, and the Weasley kids would be spending Christmas at Grimmauld Place, with the Lovegoods popping over on Christmas Day, staying for dinner. The twins had been adamant about “properly meeting” their idols, although they’d known Sirius and Remus for most of their lives. So, since Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to Romania to visit Ron’s second oldest brother, Charlie, the twins would get their wish.

Draco had been melancholy, since this would be his first Christmas without his family, and had almost signed up to stay at Hogwarts over break, until Harry revealed that his godfathers were willing to take him. That had led to Draco launching himself at Harry, and later Sirius and Remus, almost crying in relief that he wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone.

Once the holidays had started, Harry and his friends were having too much fun to remember about the mystery behind the Cerberus. Thanks to Sirius and Remus (and their worshippers, Fred and George), there were pranks-a-plenty laid all throughout the house. You couldn’t go more than ten metres without being hit by a trap, so they all gave up on going back to their rooms. Instead, they spent hour after hour sitting on comfy armchairs in front of the fireplace, spearing anything they could on a toasting fork—bread, crumpets, marshmallows—and plotting ways of breaking into Gringotts, getting Lord Malfoy arrested, and several choice students expelled, which were fun to talk about, even if they wouldn’t work. Eventually, the pranksters agreed to a truce, and magically dismantled their traps.

On Christmas Eve, Harry, Draco, Neville, and Ron all went to sleep in Harry’s room, as they’d done since the holidays had started, looking forward to the food, the fun, and the presents. When they woke up the next morning, however, it was to twin howls of horror. Draco and Ron wanted to race downstairs and see what was going on, but Harry and Neville advised caution. “Pads and Moony always set up a prank so that I couldn’t see what my presents were ahead of time,” Harry explained. “I wonder what the twins have been turned into.”

As it turned out, they’d both been given full-size elephant trunks in place of their noses, and when Sirius and Remus were woken up by trumpeting and cursing, all four laughed uproariously.

“Boys, Ginny, it’s safe now!” Remus called amidst giggles.

That made the boys rush out of Harry’s room and down into the lounge, where huge stacks of presents, all colour-coded, lay under the beautifully decorated tree. Ginny and Percy padded out of their guest rooms and seated themselves in chairs close to the fireplace, which Sirius lit with a flick of his wand.

“Right then, youngest to oldest?” suggested Remus.

Some of them grumbled, but Ginny didn’t seem to care, for she snatched up a lumpy parcel, and opened it. Out fell a pink knitted Weasley jumper, and she put it on without hesitation. Everyone agreed nonverbally that they should all open their jumpers first, although Draco was a bit nonplussed when another lumpy parcel was pushed into his hands. He looked around at the others; Ron was getting teased for having yet another maroon jumper, Harry was happily pulling on an emerald green one, and all the others were delightedly commenting on the tastiness of this year’s home-made fudge. Harry noticed Draco was staring, misty-eyed, at the dark blue jumper he’d found inside the parcel. He sidled over to him, stepping over various bits of torn wrapping and discarded ribbon, and said, “I owled Mrs Weasley, and told her that you might not be getting many presents because of your father. I… hope you don’t mind.”

Draco looked up at him, his face lighting up with a huge sappy grin, and grabbed him in a hug. Then, he pulled on the jumper and sighed. “It’s so _warm!_ Thank you, Harry, it means a lot. I’m going to write a thank you note to Mrs Weasley, as well.”

After that, all the presents were unwrapped, Ginny receiving a book on Chaser strategies as a joint present from Harry, Neville, and Ron, Draco being delighted in the practice snitch his mother had secretly passed on to Sirius one luncheon, Fred and George being given the Marauders’ Book of Pranks, Remus jokingly saying that the Crup puppy he’d gotten Sirius “looked just like him”, Ginny gifting Neville with a book on extremely rare underwater plants, Percy receiving a book on all the Ministers for Magic, and Harry getting a wooden flute from Hagrid and a wand wood harvesting kit from… well… everyone.

Breakfast was an utterly pandemonious affair, with wizard crackers going off every few seconds, lots of laughter and impromptu Christmas carols, and the food was, of couse, divine. Around lunch, Luna and her father arrived, wearing matching bright purple robes. As it turned out, Mr Lovegood and Draco’s father were cousins, so although he’d never met that side of the family, he already knew of them. He was extremely confused by Luna’s rambling about having been gifted with a flock of Red-toed Blibbering Humdingers from her father, but then again, so were all the others. Luna drifted out into the small back garden, Harry, Draco, and Neville following, and seated themselves on the steps. However, Luna quickly got up when there was a rustling from one of the nearby trees.

“Um… Luna?” asked Neville. “What’re you doing?”

“Looking for Nibblesnarfs. They’re quite common this time of year.”

Harry asked the obvious question. She replied, “Well, they look like albino squirrells, except they have six legs, two noses, and have a little control over fire.”

Draco said, “And—and you’re _looking_ for these things?”

“Of course, why not? Daddy would love to meet one. They have near-human intelligence, you know.”

The boys gave each other a look, and then there was a shout from inside. “Draco? Someone’s here to see you!”

Draco’s eyes opened wide, and he rushed inside quickly, and the other boys and Luna were close behind. Harry hurtled inside, and was faced with Draco hugging his mother tightly, Snape standing next to her with a fond look on his face. “I thought it prudent to whisk away your mother so she could see you for a few short moments, Draco,” said Snape.

Draco broke away from his mother and proceeded to hug Snape as well. Sirius was giggling in the background. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” cried Draco. “This is the best Christmas present ever!”

Once the greetings were over, Narcissa said that Severus’ present to her had been a new expensive dress from Twilfitt and Tattings, and she’d said that she would like to go once lunch was over. When they apparated out, however, Snape had informed her of their real destination, and she’d agreed immediately. “After all,” she said, “I already have a list of desired dresses with Mr Twilfitt, all I need do is owl him to inform him of which one I would like.”

*Switch to Filch’s POV*

Christmas. He hated it. It always reminded him of things he could never have: Magic, so many loved ones that the amount of presents one received was obscene, and happy children. He had been born a Squib, and he’d had a bit of jealousy for magic-users for as long as he could remember, but he hadn’t let it get him down. However, learning that he was infertile when he was an adult had struck a huge blow to him. So, he’d decided to work for Hogwarts as its caretaker, so that he might at least be able to have some exposure to children. That had been a bad idea, since most of the children had been extremely mean to him, hexing him, tripping him, deliberately creating huge messes so that he had to spend hours upon hours cleaning them up.

So far, he hadn’t had many good experiences with the Hogwarts students. The first to talk kindly to him had been little Lily Evans, all of eleven years old, who had befriended him by chattering incessantly about how different it was from the muggle world, and how excited she was to be there.

Their friendship had been one of the reasons why Lily was made a prefect, and later Head Girl, since she could corroborate with him during rounds. In fifth year, she gave him his pure-bred kneazle, Mrs Norris, for Christmas. Incredibly, even though he had no magic of his own, he’d formed a familiar-bond with Mrs Norris, which meant that she could mentally contact him when she found a student out after curfew.

Apparently, Lily’s son, Harry, was just as kind as she’d been, and his kindness had evidently rubbed off on his dorm mates, for they’d been just as nice to him. However, he thought as he surveyed the foot of his bed, he hadn’t expected this. There were two presents from his family, one from Dumbledore (He could tell because of the yellow and blue starry wrapping paper), and _seven_ other presents.

Mrs Norris ambled into the room, carrying a small blue glass pyramid, which could detect the presence of malevolent magic. “Thank you, my sweet,” he said to her, and took it from her maw. One by one, the extra presents were proven clean and safe, and he started to open them. The first had a short note attached to it.

_Hi, Mr Filch,_

_I just wanted you to have a little something for Christmas, and I hope you enjoy the Holiday season. The others are from Draco Black, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas._

_Regards,_

_Harry Potter-Black_

Eyes already tearing up, because the kid was just _so much like Lily_ , he opened it. Inside, was a charcoal drawing of Argus and Mrs Norris as they walked through the corridors side by side. Also, there was a small muggle book called _One Thousand Ways to Get Revenge_. He started laughing, and then he was crying, and he had to stop and collect himself before he was able to continue unwrapping the other first-years’ presents.

This was turning out to be an excellent Christmas after all.

*Back to Harry’s POV*

The rest of Christmas break flew by, and soon enough they’d boarded the train back to Hogwarts. Harry had missed the school, for even though he had a loving home with his godfathers, it was like a second home to him.

The first night back, Harry woke up to a prodding on his shoulder. “What?” he yawned.

“You’ve got to come and see this, Harry,” said Draco in quiet excitement. “It’s this mirror thing.”

“… Okay?”

Draco suggested they use Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, and he led the way, past the library, into one of many small passageways, and eventually stopping in front of an abandoned classroom. They entered, the dark shapes of desks and chairs which were piled against the walls overshadowed by a magnificent mirror. As high as the ceiling, with an ornate golden frame, it stood on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

“I found it because I couldn’t sleep, and I was trying to get into the Restricted Section, and I had to run away when Mrs Norris spotted me. I ended up here,” Draco said as he stepped in front of it.

“What’s so special about it?” asked Harry curiously.

“Come see for yourself.”

Harry did, and had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around, and Draco let out a snort. Harry elbowed him lightly, and turned to face the mirror again. There he was, reflected in it, with a freaked out look in his eyes, and there, reflected behind him, were several people. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving, and the tall, thin man next to her had glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just like Harry’s did. He knew they were his parents instantly, because of all of the photos Sirius and Remus had of them back home. The others, though, were his godfathers and his friends. Sirius and Remus were standing on either side of his parents, winking and waving at him. Draco and Neville stood smiling, their arms around a laughing Hermione, and Fred and George were teasingly leaning their elbows on Ron’s head.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry, and he stared hungrily back at them. He was just about to press his hands against the glass, when Draco spoke behind him. “What do you see?”

Harry jumped, having momentarily forgotten his friend was behind him, then said, “My—my parents. And you, Neville, Hermione, Ron, the twins, Pads, and Moony. What is this, Draco? If it had just been mum and dad, I’d have thought it showed people that you knew were dead, but...”

“The writing on the top is backwards. I worked it out when I realised what I saw could never be real. It says, ‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire’.”

Harry’s heart was aching in his chest, half out of joy, and half terrible sadness. “I don’t like this mirror. It feels really powerful.”

Indeed, his Magesight was informing him it was dangerous to remain around it for much longer. Draco agreed, and they made their way silently back to the tower. Just before they entered their dormitory, Harry asked, “What did you see?”

Draco hesitated, but spoke truthfully. “My father, he was proud of me, and my mother was embracing both of us. He would never be proud of me, not when I’m a Gryffindor, and my mother doesn’t hug him very much.”

Harry then gave him a hug to say he was sorry for asking something he possibly shouldn’t have, and Draco returned it, so all was forgiven. “For what it’s worth,” Draco whispered as they slipped back into their neighbouring beds, “I’m happy and proud to be a Gryffindor. I don’t think I could stand having to be the perfect little pureblood heir my father wanted. I wouldn’t have had you as a friend, or Neville, or the Weasleys, and I’m sure I would never have properly met my cousins. Thank you, for being my friend, Harry.”


	13. Nicholas Flamel

When the two boys had told Neville, Ron, and Hermione of the mirror, they’d all but demanded to see it. Agreeing to take them one at a time, Ron was up first, but to his disappointment, they found out that the mirror was gone. This was a good thing though, Harry believed, because if he’d seen his parents, what would _Neville_ have seen if it had still been there? Hermione had done some research, and had come up with the name, The Mirror of Erised, and explained to them that the stronger and more beautiful the desire, the more the pull to the mirror would increase. She said that countless people had died, either because they wasted away in front of it, or because what they saw was so heart-wrenching, they ended their own lives. This only solidified Harry’s belief that Neville should never look at it.

Time passed, and the Mirror of Erised was buried under tests and essays, the group of friends losing interest in its powers and charms. The Cerberus had also become nothing more than a frightening thought late at night, until one day when the trio and Hermione decided to visit Hagrid on a Friday afternoon. Hermione mentioned she’d been reading a book on their unique natures, which suggested that they only bonded to one person, one family at the most, and the rest of humankind was sentenced to becoming nothing more than food. Hagrid suddenly became quite shifty, and wouldn’t look either of the four in the eye, and Draco noticed. He wondered aloud, in an incredibly sarcastic voice, “I wonder who that one in the school’s bonded to.”

Hagrid dropped the teapot he was holding.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he said.

“ _Fluffy?”_

“Yeah—he’s mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub two years ago, I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—”

“Yes?” asked Neville eagerly.

“Now, don’t ask me any more,” said Hagrid gruffly, “That’s top secret, that is.”

“Is whatever the Cer—Fluffy’s been guarding the same thing that someone broke into Gringotts to steal last year on my birthday?” asked Harry, putting together scattered clues in a flash.

“Look, yeh shouldn’t be meddlin’ in things like this, ones that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget about Fluffy, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel—“

“Aha!” exclaimed Hermione. “There’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

*

No matter how hard they looked, squeezing ten minutes of fervent researching in between classes at a time, they couldn’t find Flamel. He wasn’t in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ , or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_ ; he was also missing from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_ , and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. Then again, the library was so enormous, that it wasn’t a wonder why they couldn’t find a single book on one man, with tens of thousands of books, thousands of shelves, and hundreds of narrow rows.

After weeks of searching, they found themselves surrounded by piles upon piles of dusty old tomes, holed up in a corner of Gryffindor Tower. They hadn’t eaten properly in a few days, so Neville took his turn to fetch some food from the kitchens. Ron had been avoiding them, saying he’d speak to them when they stopped reading and actually wanted to spend some time having _fun_ , and from where he was sitting on the opposite side of the common room, he looked up and spotted their dejected faces. He finished beating Seamus at Wizard’s Chess with a single move, his opponent groaning in defeat, and crossed over to them. “Hey, bookworms. Finally finished, have you? Draco, fancy a match?”

Draco huffed, but got up and obediently sat himself in Seamus’ recently-vacated chair. Ron, the twins, Seamus, and Dean, had staged an intervention of sorts. The twins kidnapped Hermione, asking her help in devising their Easter break prank, and Harry was asked by Dean and Seamus to explain some wand theory to them. Harry was just beginning to explain the intricacies of Seamus’ spruce and phoenix feather wand, when Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone’s guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what was obviously the Leg-Locker Curse.

Everyone started laughing, except for Harry, Draco, and Hermione, the two boys helping him to the nearest chair, and Hermione quickly administering the counter-curse. Neville’s legs sprang apart, and he sank back into his chair gratefully.

“What happened?” Draco asked him.

“Parkinson and Goldstein. Parkinson confronted me before I could get to the kitchens, telling me I needed to get you to talk to her. Apparently you’ve been avoiding her all year, and she’s sick of it. Then, Goldstein happened to walk past, heard what she was saying, and then he said, ‘Well, by all means, Longbottom, bring Potter a message for me as well, won’t you?” and he said that you should remember he still hasn’t forgotten about the duel you two were supposed to have, then cursed my legs, so that I could ‘deliver the message in a most sensational way’.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Neville,” moaned Hermione, giving him a hug.

“Why is it, he gets all the girls?” Harry heard Ron muttering.

The twins made their way over, and George gave him a Chocolate Frog, saying, “You’re worth twelve of people like them, Neville. You’re in Gryffindor, after all, and where are they? In stinking Slytherin and ridiculous Ravenclaw, that’s where!”

“And besides,” said Harry, “Your wand’s larch and unicorn hair. You’re already brave, so that’s giving you a boost, as well as confirming there’s more to you than meets the eye, and you’re consistent about what you believe in.”

Neville gave a lopsided smile as his surrounding friends gave him praise, and bit into his Chocolate Frog. He took out the card, swallowed when he saw Dumbledore’s face smiling up at him, and turned it over to look at the reverse. His eyes widened in surprise. “Guys, I found him!”

Fred and George looked confused, but Harry, Draco, and Hermione were thrilled. “What does it say, specifically?” asked Hermione.

“It says, ‘Albus Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, _and his work on Alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel’!_ ”

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn’t looked so excited since they’d got back the marks for their very first piece of homework. She sprinted up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. The boys, Fred and George included, barely had time to exchange mystified glances before she was dashing back down, an enormous old book in her arms.

“I never thought to look in here!” she whispered excitedly. “I got this out weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“ _Light?_ ” muttered Fred to George, both of whom still looked mostly confused beyond words.

Hermione fixed him with an efficient death glare and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. Fred shivered. “Scary when she does that,” he whispered.

Hermione gave no indication that she’d heard him, for she had just found what she’d been looking for. “I knew it! I _knew_ it!”

“What?” asked Harry quickly, eager to hear what the brilliant witch had found.

“Nicolas Flamel,” she whispered dramatically, “is the _only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!_ ”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” said Draco, catching on to Hermione’s excitement. “It turns metal into gold, and can keep you alive forever because it makes the Elixir of Life. Uncle Sev made me study Alchemy for a whole month when I was eight, because I complained that Potions could never be used to make anything interesting.”

Neville piped up. “But it says Alchemy here, not Potions.”

“Alchemy’s a branch of Potions,” stated Fred.

George took over. “Your _dear_ ‘Uncle Sev’ makes third-years learn about Alchemy for this really long essay. As far as I know, Bill and Charlie both had to do it, Percy had to, and we, of course, had to valiantly struggle through it, for the sole benefit of telling you all about the connection between the two.”

Gobsmacked, the four looked at each other. Fred interrupted their thoughts. “What’s this all about, then? Is _this_ what you’ve been reading all these books for?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He looked at the others, who nodded. “Okay, on my birthday, someone broke into Gringotts, and the news article I read said that it had been emptied earlier that day. Hagrid let slip that he was the one who’d emptied it, and that someone named Nicolas Flamel was involved. You two remember when McGonagall confronted us and asked if we’d gone to duel Goldstein at night, at the beginning of the year?”

The twins nodded eagerly. “Well, we said we didn’t go, but we actually did. We dragged Hermione with us, and he didn’t show, but Filch almost caught us, so we ran. We lost him, and came across a door I’d seen in a vision.” He held up his hand to stave off the questions. “It’s a long story. Magesight. Look it up. _Anyway_ , I wanted to know what was behind it, and there was a Cerberus.”

“We know that, we found it on our first night, didn’t we, George?”

Harry shrugged. “We asked Hagrid, turns out the thing’s name is _Fluffy_ , and it’s guarding a trap door. He isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

“So you’re saying…” started George.

“… that Fluffy’s guarding this Stone?” finished Fred.

“Exactly,” said Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Neville. Harry continued. “We think Quirrell is trying to steal it, and Snape does too.”

The twins looked at each other. “This just keeps getting stranger and stranger,” they said simultaneously.

“Knowing Dumbledore, it’s probably going to get even more complicated,” said Draco seriously.


	14. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

The twins were now a part of the inner workings of their group. They all seemed to be spending more time together, and had chosen the name Marauders’ Recruits to identify themselves. They met up every so often in an abandoned classroom to plan pranks, and used codewords to signal a meeting. However, the room was uncomfortable, and it seemed no matter how many Scourgifying Charms they cast, it was still stuffy and dust-ridden, so they’d abandoned that idea pretty quickly.

Draco couldn’t sleep sometimes, and so wandered about the castle at night under Harry’s Cloak. During one of his night time adventures, he came across a tapestry of a wizard trying to teach trolls how to dance. The next day, Draco showed the other Recruits the secret room he’d found, and how it was perfect for them to hang out in. They all agreed that it was awesome, and that the room would be their headquarters from then on. Hermione, of course, did some research and came up with the theory that this was the legendary Room of Requirement, a secret chamber built by Helga Hufflepuff herself for those in need. As the days went by, they found themselves talking less about pranks, and more about the Stone, and their theories about what else was guarding it.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher’s Stone. One meeting, the Recruits walked into the room to find it utterly different from how they normally had it. It was structured like a classroom, and Hermione was surrounded by several bits of parchment. Draco approached her, and saw that she had started drawing up revision timetables for all of them, and colour-coding her notes. “Hermione, the exams are ages away,” he said, exasperated.

“Ten weeks,” Hermione snapped. “That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicholas Flamel. Besides, Fred and George’s exams are in nine weeks.”

“But we’re not six hundred years old, Hermione,” Fred reminded her gently. “Besides, it’s only third-year for us, it’s not exactly like we actually _need_ study.”

“What are you revising for, anyway?” asked Neville. “You already know it all.”

The teachers, unfortunately, seemed to be thinking the same thing Hermione was. They piled heaps of homework on all of them that the Easter holidays weren’t nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. They’d all decided to stay at Hogwarts over break to get the work done, and the Room of Requirement became a place of study rather than amusement and intrigue, even though their prank of having thousands of water-filled paper cups in the Entrance Hall was brilliant. One day, Harry came back from the library with an odd expression.

“What is it?” asked Draco from where he was seated, looking up ‘Dittany’ in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_.

“I… um… ran into Hagrid in the library. He was acting shifty again. I don’t know _why_ he thinks I don’t know when he’s lying; he’s so bad at it. Anyway, he kept me from seeing the book he was hiding behind his back all the way out the library, and when he left, I went to see which section he was in.” Harry explained.

“Well?” asked George. “Which one was it, then?”

“ _Dragons!_ ” he exclaimed. “Not that it’s a surprise, mind, he’s wanted one for as long as I’ve known him, but it looked like there was a book missing from the _Dragon Breeding_ subsection.”

“You don’t think he’s—” started Neville.

“Yes.” said Harry.

“But it was outlatwed,” said Fred.

“Yeah, it was, by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709,” George continued. “The only people allowed to raise and breed dragons are the ones who live in really isolated areas, and who have a permit. Why d’you think Charlie went there?”

The others shrugged. “I think it’s time to pay him a visit again,” said Hermione.

*

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper’s hut an hour later, they weren’t exactly surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called, “Who is it?” before he let them in and shut the door quickly behind them. It was stiflingly hot inside. Even though it was such a perfectly warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

“I didn’t know you four were hangin’ out with the Weasley twins,” started Hagrid, oblivious to the uncomfortable heat.

“Yeah, they’re really resourceful and cool. Anyway, that’s not what we came here to talk about.” said Harry.

“Oh? An’ just what might that be, then, eh?”

“The dragon egg you’ve got in your fireplace, perhaps?” suggested Fred casually.

Hagrid blanched. “Ah. Well, that’s—er...”

“Where did you get it?” asked George. “Must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“Won it,” said Hagrid. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad to be rid of it, ter be honest.”

“But what are you going to do with it once it’s hatched?” asked Hermione. “They breathe fire, don’t they? And you live in a _wooden_ house!”

Hagrid wasn’t listening though. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

*

One morning, not too long after their discovery, Hagrid sent Harry a note with Hedwig, consisting of only two words: _It’s hatching_.

The six were immediately worried. What would happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was raising an illegal dragon in his hut? Fred and George decided that their brother Charlie would need to be contacted before they went down to watch it. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to see a dragon hatching. George, whose handwriting was a smidgeon neater than Fred’s (not that many people noticed, of course), wrote and sent off a letter with a school owl, not wanting to keep Hedwig away in case of emergencies, asking for their brother’s help in getting the dragon to a place where it’d have enough room to grow up in.

They went down to the hut, and watched eagerly as what looked like a crumpled, black umbrella burst out of the huge, black egg. Hagrid was so enchanted by the little thing, that they had to tell him twice what they’d asked of Charlie. At first, he was furious, then he started to bawl large tears at the thought of leaving his “little Norbert to grow up without his mummy”.

In the end, however, he agreed that it was probably the wisest choice, and the next week, a reply arrived from Charlie.

_Dear Gred and Forge,_

_What have you two got yourselves into this time? Hagrid raising a Ridgeback? He’s clearly lost his marbles. Anyway, thanks for the letter. How are you two? I’d be glad to take it, but it won’t be easy getting it here. I think the best thing to do would be to send it over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me soon. It would have been in three weeks’ time, but I’ve asked them to come earlier in light of these developments._

_Can you get the Ridgeback up to the Astronomy Tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you and take him away then, so that they won’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

The six looked at each other when they read the letter.

“We’ve got the Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry. “It shouldn’t be too difficult—I think the cloak’s big enough to cover up you two and Norbert.”

It showed just how serious this situation was that the other five agreed with him.

*Switch to Fred’s POV*

Fred would have felt bad for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if he hadn’t been so worried about what they were about to do, or being caught. Sure, he and George had been caught out after curfew plenty of times, but having a dragon was highly illegal, and even _they_ wouldn’t dream of stepping so far outside of the law. It was a very dark, cloudy night and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid’s hut because they’d had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the Entrance Hall, where he’d been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had packed Norbert some dead rats, brandy, and the thing’s ‘favourite’ teddy into a crate. They were off, and immediately they heard the sound of ripping fabric coming from within.

“That didn’t last long, did it?” muttered George.

Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up an infinite amount of staircases, even their innate knowledge of secret passageways didn’t help much. The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after they were almost caught by Filch, who came alarmingly close to their hiding place in the shadows—they’d forgotten they were invisible for the time being. Not until they stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off Harry’s Cloak, and Fred was glad to be able to breathe properly again.

About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness. The guys on them were a cheery lot. They showed Fred and George the harness they’d rigged up, so they could suspend the crate containing Norbert between them. They were amused by the Ridgeback’s name for some reason, and helped buckle him up into it, and then the twins shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, their momentary nightmare with Norbert seemed to be over.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon—what could spoil their happiness?

As it turned out, the answer to that question was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch’s face loomed suddenly out of the darkness. “Well, well, well. We _are_ in trouble.”

Filch had doubled back. At least they’d left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower.


	15. The Forbidden Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches between Fred and George's POV, starting with George. Whenever there's an asterisk in this chapter, it switches.
> 
> There are now only two chapters to go, and I need about a month's hiatus after this fic is done to figure out exactly how to write the second one, and maybe get a couple chapters ahead.
> 
> Enjoy!

Things were… interesting once the Gryffindors found out they’d lost a record 100 points in one night. They were now barely in third place, with only ten points in front of Ravenclaw. George hadn’t been able to sleep properly all night, dreading his housemates’ reactions. He was relieved when at first those passing the giant hour-glasses thought there’d been a mistake, and no one seemed to know what had happened. He and Fred didn’t know how the rumours started, but pretty soon everyone knew they’d done something huge.

Exasperated with the number of people who wanted to know what they’d done, George quietly asked his brother during break, “Fred, what do we do?”

“It’s better that we take the fall for the points we lost, Georgie. Could you imagine what would happen if people found out about Hagrid or our firsties? No, it’s better to lose points than get anyone arrested.” Fred whispered back.

“I know that, it’s just that seventeen people have asked me what we did, in Arithmancy alone! What should we tell them? It’s not like McGonagall will put the stories straight.”

“Ah, okay, well, what I’ve been doing is just smiling, winking, and walking off. It drives people mad and they probably think it was just some ridiculous prank we pulled on the professors.”

George nodded. “Okay. That sounds like something we’d actually do. Let’s keep it that way.”

They took themselves to their joint Defence class. Their class schedule could be a bit hectic and confusing sometimes; George had taken Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Magical Theory as his electives, and Fred had taken Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical Creatures as well. Then, they swapped places with each other every week, and worked on all of their assignments together, since they’d both wanted to do as many electives as they could. They looked so identical, that the teachers never noticed. The only one who noticed, it seemed, was Lee. He could always somehow tell which twin he was talking to, and they had no idea how.

They were two of the most popular and admired people at the school, seventh-years envied them, firsties wanted to be them, and the girls—oh, the girls! Fred had already gone a bit girl-crazy, and George had no idea when he’d be slowing down his one-crush-a-day phase, but he hoped it was soon. He sort of missed the times when they’d both agreed that girls were gross, and having no intentions of ever being interested in them. George had no idea what Fred saw in them; and he had a sneaking suspicion that he might not ever want to. He still ignored this, however, because at the moment, he had no time to examine anything he was feeling because of the near-constant whispers following the pair around. Even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed to have turned on them, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the House Cup.

However, these two were not weak-willed or mindless sheep; they were the Weasley twins, and they knew how to get away with anything, and keep their heads up high. So, that was what they did.

*

Then, about a week before exams were due to start, a note found itself in the hands of Fred, and looking next to him, he saw George had one as well. They were the same:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. Meet Mr Filch in the Entrance Hall._

_Prof. M. McGonagall_

Fred had completely forgotten about the detentions old McGinnie had given them after taking those points off them. He half expected Hermione to pop up from somewhere and start telling him off, complaining that now he wouldn’t be able to study for the Goblin Rebellion of 1609 or something. He’d been slightly touched that she had made him and George study timetables as well, and he had no idea how she knew which classes he took (officially, anyway).

The Marauders’ Recruits met up in the Room that evening, mostly to study, but also to reassure one another that the Stone was still safe and Quirrell was no closer to getting a hold of it.

“Fred, you’ll be okay, won’t you?” asked Hermione beside him, and he started in surprise. He’d been in the middle of reading through his Muggle Studies notes.

He blinked and saw that she was asking _him_ , and not mistakenly asking his brother. “Um… yeah, little ‘Mione. It’s just detention with Filch. Nothing we haven’t gone through before.”

She raised one eyebrow. “‘Mione? Really?”

Grinning, he explained. “Well, Her-mi-o-ne is just such a long name, isn’t it? ‘Mione is short, sweet, and sounds vaguely similar to lion. Which you are. A perfect little lioness.”

This praise caused her to roll her eyes, but he noticed her blushing a bit. _Score,_ he thought.

At eleven o’clock that night, they found themselves saying their goodbyes to Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Neville, and marching down to the Entrance Hall. Filch was already there. “Follow me,” he said, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he continued, leering at them. He started moaning about those chains in his tiny office, and the “good old days”.

They marched across the dark grounds. George was looking a bit ashen-faced; he always had been the more sensitive one. Fred wondered what their punishment was going to be. He’d never had a detention outside before, but Filch was sounding delighted, so it had to be something gruelling.

Ahead, he could see the lighted windows of Hagrid’s hut. Then, they heard a distant shout. “Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

Fred’s heart rose a bit. Surely, it wouldn’t be so bad if _Hagrid_ was their overseer. George looked more cheerful. Filch must have seen George’s face, for he said, “I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourselves with that oaf? Think again—it’s into the Forest with you. Let’s see if you two miscreants make it out alive.”

The two shivered. Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying a huge crossbow, which looked normal-sized on the gamekeeper, and a quiver of bolts hung over his shoulder.

“Abou’ time,” he said. “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right, Fred? George?”

“I shouldn’t be too friendly with them, Hagrid,” Filch said coldly, “they’re here to be punished after all. I’ll be back at dawn… for what’s left of them.”

He hobbled away, and Hagrid spent a good five minutes cursing at and muttering darkly about Filch. He came to himself, and said, “Right then, listen carefully, ‘cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks.”

He showed the two boys a small puddle of silvery blue unicorn blood, then set off into the Forest, with them close behind. He handed Fang over to them, and sent them off one way when they got to a fork in the narrow trail, and they were officially separated from their protector.

*

They walked for nearly half an hour, the trees growing closer to them, and the drops of blood becoming more difficult to see as the moonlight from overhead dwindled. George heard a rustling of leaves somewhere off to their left. He stopped, shivering. “What is it, George?” whispered Fred.

“It… it feels like we’re being watched,” he answered.

Fred waved the paranoia off. “Nonsense. The only one who could be staring at us is Fang.”

They looked at the boarhound.

He was.

They laughed nervously.

George shook his head. “I heard something though, Freddie. It sounded like something _slithering_ over the dead leaves.” He pointed. “That way. Like a cloak or something.”

That caused Fred’s ever-present smile to slide from his face. They listened for a few seconds, but heard nothing. Eventually, they walked on.

After another ten minutes, Fred broke the silence. “D’you reckon what you heard was whatever’s been killing the unicorns?”

George swallowed and nodded. They trekked quietly through the dense, dark trees. Fred kept looking nervously over his shoulder. The path became almost impossible to follow, because the trees were so thick. The blood trail they were following also seemed to be getting thicker and more distinct; there were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. George could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

“Look—” he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Fred.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer, and saw the unicorn, dead. Never before had either of them seen something so beautiful and sad. Its long slender legs stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen, its mane was tangled and spread out, contrasting greatly with the almost black ground on which it lay.

A slithering sound made them freeze. He only had to look out of the corner of his eye to know that Fred had heard it this time, as well… Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling towards the dead creature. It lowered its head, and began to drink its blood. Fred and George stood transfixed, unable to move.

Suddenly, there was a red explosion over the edge of the forest canopy. This seemed to startle the figure, and it raised its head and looked at them—unicorn blood was dribbling down its front.

George tried to move, but couldn’t, for he had never felt so afraid.

Through the Forest, the way they’d come, came a huge crashing through the undergrowth. Hagrid burst out from between the trees, his crossbow at the ready, and shouted, “GET AWAY FROM THAT UNICORN!”

The hooded figure bolted, seeming to flow over the ground, and disappeared into the darkness once more.

*

Harry, Draco, Neville, and Hermione were waiting for them in the common room when they arrived. Draco and Neville had fallen asleep, but Harry and Hermione were wide awake.

As soon as the twins came in, the two rushed towards them, Hermione flinging herself into Fred’s arms, and Harry stopping short and asking hurriedly, “Are you two okay? I felt you two were in danger, and my Magesight told me where to shoot the sparks.”

Fred, from around Hermione’s bushy hair, grinned tiredly and said, “Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks for that.”

George took over, beginning to tell them what had happened in the Forest. The two sleeping boys woke up sometime during the story.

“It must have been Voldemort,” said Harry finally. “It only makes sense that Quirrell is possessed by him, or something, because how else could he speak Parseltongue? And Voldemort needs to use unicorn blood to stay strong. I mean, even the curse on the blood would be negated by the Elixir of Life.”

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. Fred and George crawled into their beds, exhausted, throats sore.


	16. Through the Trapdoor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, second last chapter for this fic, and then the work starts for book two. Enjoy!

On the first of April, Harry, Neville, Draco, and Hermione organised a small birthday party for the twins. They commandeered an abandoned classroom (since they couldn’t invite Fred and George’s friends to the Room of Requirement), and asked the house-elves to provide some food. Needless to say, the party was a huge success, and the twins were given more Zonkos products than was probably wise, since the next two weeks were filled with pranks. Said pranks were only able to be signed by Fred and George, since the Marauders’ Recruits’ identities weren’t known. Therefore, they had even more fun planning “revenge pranks”, as though the Weasley twins were in a prank battle against the mysterious group.

The exams were, to say the least, gruelling. They took place in the first week of June, which was unfortunate, because Draco’s birthday was on the fifth. They’d planned a small get together in the Room on that day right after their Potions exam. Harry half-expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door of one of their exams, heading straight for him. The week slowly passed, and nothing of this sort happened. Instead, they had drama-free written exams for all their subjects, for which they were given quills equipped with Anti-Cheating spells, and for Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Defence, they had practical exams. In Charms, they had to make a pineapple tap dance across the desk, and points were awarded for spell proficiency and dance moves; in Transfiguration, they made mice into snuff-boxes—in this, points were given for how pretty the snuff-box was, but taken away if they had whiskers; in Potions, they had to try to remember how to make a Forgetfulness Potion while Snape breathed down their necks; in Defence, they had to succesfully cast the Protego Charm, and a barrage of painless spells, going up in power, were fired to see how efficient it was.

On top of their exams, it was swelteringly hot in the classrooms where they were held. Everyone learnt very quickly not to wear anything longer than necessary, even though they still had to wear some type of uniform. That was part of the reason why, on the fifth, they decided to ask the Room to be a frozen pond. They spent the remainder of Draco’s birthday ice skating, then having an impromptu snowball free-for-all fight.

Finally, their last exam, History of Magic, was over. “If I never have to do another History exam, it’ll be too soon,” groaned Draco, stretching out on the grass they’d laid themselves on. It was close to the lake, where Fred, George, and Lee were standing on the edge of the lake, tickling the Giant Squid’s tentacles as it basked in the sunlight.

“I’m with you there,” said Harry, lying down next to him and staring up at the sky.

“Oh cheer up, you lot,” Neville sighed. “No more revision, not for ages. We don’t find out how badly we did ‘til next week, so don’t panic until then. We can’t do anything to change it.”

“Speak for yourself,” stated Hermione, “I don’t know if I got that second last question right on Uddred the Unfaithful.”

“Oh, that was a horribly-written question, but you’re _you_ ,” said Draco, “you’re sure to get every single question right, and snatch the title of Best in Our Year from me.”

Hermione pushed his shoulder lightly from where she was sitting.

“Hey, little cubs. How was your last exam?” asked George as he and Fred swaggered over.

“Alright.”

“Horrible.”

Harry changed the subject. “Did anyone ever find out what a Cerberus’ weakness is?”

They all shook their heads. “Why do you ask, Harry?” questioned Hermione.

“I don’t know. Something just doesn’t add up. It’s been bothering me a bit lately, but...”

“But?” asked Neville.

Harry huffed out a laugh. “I haven’t had the time to think about it, what with those bloody exams.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got something like that,” said George.

“You do?” asked Fred. George nodded. “Then by all means, tell me, and we’ll work it through together. That goes for you too, Harry.”

Sighing, Harry started. “Okay, Here goes. We’ve figured out that there are most likely lots of different spells and enchantments protecting the Stone, but spells can be broken if you’re powerful enough. Which Voldemort possibly is.”

“There’s your first problem,” stated Fred, “Dumbledore’s supposed to be the only person You-Know-Who’s afraid of. As long as he’s here, it’s safe from him.”

“We did see him in the Forbidden Forest though, Freddie,” said George. “And according to Harry’s vision, it’s extremely likely he’s possessed Quirrell—while Dumbledore’s here.”

Draco piped up. “So he’s too scared to _do_ something, but not to _be_ here. Got it. Moving on?”

Harry nodded. “That brings us to Fluffy. Hagrid’s bonded to him, obviously, and therefore should know any weaknesses he has.”

“Makes sense,” said Hermione.

“Here’s where it goes wrong. Where does Norbert come into it? He’s always wanted a dragon for as long as I've known him, and then he just so happens to win one in a game of cards. While drinking. If he’s as bad at cards as he is at lying, how did he win? And the man ‘seemed glad to be rid of it’. I thought it might just be because of the legal issues, but why give a dragon egg to someone you don’t know? What if they’re bad with animals? What would he have asked about, while Hagrid was drunk?”

That caused a reaction in the others.

Draco sprang up. “Okay, Hermione, Fred, George, you go look for Dumbledore. He needs to know this. Harry, Neville, let’s go visit Hagrid. Meet up in the Entrance Hall in ten minutes.”

They all rushed to do as Draco had suggested. Harry and the two boys rushed down the hill to Hagrid’s hut, where he was sitting in an armchair outside, shelling peas into a large bowl.

“Hullo, you three,” he said, smiling. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

Neville looked up, hopeful, but Harry said, “No, sorry. We’re in a bit of a hurry. We’d like to ask you something.”

Hagrid frowned, but gestured for them to go on. Draco said, “What did the stranger look like? The one you won Norbert off of?”

“I dunno, he wouldn’ take his cloak off,” he said casually.

“Did he ask anything after you’d won? Like about Hogwarts, what you did there, what types of animals you were used to?”

Hagrid’s forehead crinkled as he tried to remember. “Now that yeh mention it… Yeah, he asked what I did, an’ I told him about gamekeepin’, and what sorts o’ animals I looked after. I said… well, can’ quite remember what I said, ‘cause he kept buyin’ me drinks… Oh, yeah, he said he needed ter be sure I could handle a dragon… An’ so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy...”

The three exchanged a look. Neville then asked, “Did he—did he seem interested in Fluffy?”

“Of course he did—how many three-headed dogs do yeh come across every day, even around Hogwarts? I said, he’s a piece of cake, that dog, ‘s long ‘s you know how to calm him down, jus’ play him some music an’ he’ll go to sleep, straight off—”

He suddenly looked horrified. “I shouldn’ta told yeh that! Forget I said anything! Hey—where’re yeh goin’?”

They ran as fast as they could, not talking, to the Entrance Hall, where they encountered the twins and Hermione. “He’s gone!”

“What?” asked Harry.

“Dumbledore! He left ten minutes ago to go to the Ministry!” exclaimed Hermione.

“Oh great,” groaned Draco.

“Hagrid told the stranger everything. I bet you _anything_ that was Quirrell, or Voldemort when he wasn’t possessing him,” said Harry.

“It gets worse,” warned Fred. “He won’t be back until tomorrow. Also, in order to get that information, we had to… let slip that we knew about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

The three boys groaned. What could they do? They were just kids!

Hermione gasped. Harry, Draco, and Neville wheeled around.

Snape was standing there. “What are the six of you doing inside? Surely you have better things to do?”

Harry was sure they all gulped simultaneously.

“W-we-we were… um,” Harry began.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Draco snapped. “Hagrid told a cloaked stranger how to get past Fluffy the night he won a dragon egg in a card game, Voldemort’s possessed Quirrell, and Dumbledore’s gone, won’t be back until tomorrow!”

“He’s probably going for the Stone tonight,” suggested Fred.

Snape had gone unbelievably pale. He raised his hand to his brow and rubbed it. “How do you all know about the Stone? And where does a dragon egg come into this?”

Fred and George swallowed, and George said, “That’s… not important right now, sir… What is, is that Quirrell knows, and Dumbledore’s out of the way. He could be going after it any moment now.”

“I assure you, there are many other protections in place—”

“Were any of them created by Quirrell?” Draco asked slyly.

That stopped the man short. “Because if so,” he continued on, “That’s another one down, and who knows how many other ones he saw being put up.”

“If you could just show us some of the enchantments,” Hermione suggested, “we wouldn’t have to go down there to snoop around for ourselves to see if everything’s alright.”

“We’ll even tell you where the dragon comes into it afterwards,” said George. “That was a vital bit after all.”

Snape groaned in exasperation. Draco’s curiosity, he could handle. That of the Weasley twins and the son of James Potter? Not. A. Chance. That was what the group was counting on.

He growled out, “Alright. Fine. Come with me.”

He stalked off, and the six followed, half a step behind. When they got to the door, they were greeted by growling. “There, you see?” Snape asked. “No one has gotten past the dog.”

Harry suddenly had an idea. He searched around in his pockets, and found a gum wrapper. He shrugged. Pulling out his wand, he whispered a Switching Spell, and the wrapper was replaced with the wooden flute Hagrid had given him.

Snape had a confused look on his face, but Harry ignored him, motioned to Neville to open the door, and started playing. It wasn’t any melody he’d heard, and it sounded vaguely like an owl hooting, but it did the trick. Slowly, the Cerberus’ growls ceased—its eyelids drooped, it tottered around a bit, and it fell to the floor.

“What’s that?” Draco whispered.

Neville crept closer to the feet of the dog. “A harp.”

Snape gasped then, and strode quickly over to the trapdoor, shoved one of Fluffy’s paws off it, and opened it. Without further ado, he jumped in. Right behind him came Fred, George, Draco, Neville, and Hermione. Harry didn’t stop playing until they were all safely inside and he was close to the entrance. The moment he stopped playing, the growls started up again, but he was through the trapdoor before the first swipe of his paw ever came.

“Stupid!” exclaimed Snape. “Absolutely ridiculous Gryffindors! Keep still, at least. It’s Devil’s Snare.”

Neville gulped audibly, but Snape worked quickly, sending a spell at the black tendrils that caused fire into being. It cringed away from the light and the warmth, and they were all soon free.

“I don’t suppose you’d listen if I told you to go back,” Snape commented drily.

The twins shook their heads happily, and a groan came from Snape again.

The next thing they came across was a room full of flying keys, but since they had a few exceptional flyers with them, the correct one was easily found and they were on to the next room within ten minutes. Snape grumbled the whole time about Gryffindors, and how he could have done it easily enough by himself. They didn’t listen.

A huge chessboard sat in front of them, and Draco looked like he was just itching to play it, but Snape had other ideas. He took out his wand, held it up, and muttered something. All the chess pieces bowed and stepped aside from the door they were guarding. All the children stared at him, and he simply said, “Password. McGonagall gave us a password so we wouldn’t have to play our way across every time we had to check on the Stone. There are similar things with all the others.”

“That gives Quirrell an advantage,” Fred complained, and Snape inclined his head.

They crossed the room, and the pieces re-established their places once the door had closed behind them. A disgusting smell hit their nostrils. “You said Quirrell had a gift for trolls,” Harry remembered.

A huge troll lay before them, with a bloody lump on top of its head. Harry had noticed that Snape was really worried now, practically flying over the body and opening the other door. The others did the same. “This is the last room, before the Stone. Mine,” Snape said proudly.

A roll of parchment was laying in between the bottles of potion on the table. Hermione scuttled over to it, and laughed in delight. “A riddle? _Brilliant!_ Most extremely powerful wizards haven’t got much logic, since they’re too focused on their magic to solve everything, so they’d be stuck in here for ages!”

Snape inclined his head again. Then he reached toward the smallest bottle, muttering a spell under his breath. A piece of parchment came out of the end of his wand, and he frowned when he saw it.

“This has been refilled one time more than it should have been. Quirrell—or the Dark Lord, for that matter—got past without saying the spell that would stop the wards from picking up that the bottle was refilled.”

He drank from it, then turned to them. “Go back, now. Wait for Dumbledore, then tell him what has happened.” He picked up a rounded bottle. “This one will let you go back. Take it, one at a time, go through, and then the next person goes. Use the broomsticks to get back up. Harry, your flute should do.”

Harry nodded his understanding, and handed said item to George. Snape watched as the Weasleys went through, then drank his own potion and went through the other door. Now, Hermione drank, but before she walked through to Fred and George, Harry said, “Tell the twins I’m not going.”

She started to ask why, when Draco blurted out, “Me neither!”

Neville, a bit hesitant, said the same. Hermione nodded, a fearful look in her eyes, and crossed the fire.

The only ones left now were Harry, Draco, and Neville. They each drank from the other potion, and walked through the black fire-filled doorway.

The flames passed around Harry’s body harmlessly, surrounding him in darkness until he was in the last chamber. Besides Snape, and Draco and Neville who came through shortly behind him, there was one other person in the room.


	17. The Man With Two Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the last chapter of this fic. I do hope you enjoy it.
> 
> The first chapter of book two should be up on February 2nd.

“Quirrell!” exclaimed Harry hotly.

Snape swung around from where he’d been facing off against the purple turban-wearing professor. “You fool of a boy!”

This was the distraction Quirrell needed. He snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves around Snape.

“Sev!” shouted Draco. Quirrell snapped his fingers again, and now all three boys were also tied up.

“I had expected perhaps Mr Potter-Black to be down here,” Quirrell said, without a trace of his usual stutter, “and perhaps one or two of his little friends, but not you, Severus.”

Snape growled. “After all,” he continued, “Everything I did, I made it look like _you_ were the one to blame. The troll being in the dungeons, your leg bitten by that mangy mutt, and then there was your whole… personality.”

Snape struggled in his bonds, but didn’t get anywhere.

Quirrell turned his attention to Harry. “You’re too nosy to live, Potter-Black. Scurrying around the school, getting older boys to do all your work for you. Ah, that reminds me; how was that dragon? Haven’t heard anything about it.”

_Stay calm,_ he thought. “He moved country. Too cold here, see.”

Draco snorted at Harry’s snark, and Neville let out a quiet guffaw. Annoyed, Quirrell snapped his fingers yet again, and gags sprang into place on Neville and Draco’s mouths.

“Now, wait quietly, you four, while I examine this interesting mirror.”

It was only then that Harry realised that Quirrell was standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. He gave Draco and Neville a look, then motioned his head towards the Mirror. Both of their eyes widened in understanding. Snape only looked confused.

“This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell muttered. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this.”

He stared hungrily into it. “I see the stone… I’m presenting it to my Master… but where is it? Should I break it?”

“Not if you want the Stone to be lost forever,” said Snape in a deadpan. “I assume you don’t want that? What would your Master do, I wonder, once you told him?”

A spasm of fear flitted over Quirrell’s face. “I—I would not need to tell him. He is with me wherever I go,” he said quietly. “I met him as I travelled around the world. My Lord and Master showed me that my foolish ideas of good and evil were just that; and that there was only power, and those too weak to seek it. I have served him faithfully since then, although I have failed him many times.” He shivered suddenly. “He has had to be very hard on me, and he does not forgive mistakes easily.”

Quirrell cursed under his breath. “How does this infernal mirror work? Master, I beg you to help me!”

To Harry’s (and the others’) horror, a voice answered him.

“Use one of them… Use one of them...”

Quirrell rounded on them. “Hmm. Which one shall I choose. If it doesn’t work, I can always kill you and move on to the next then. Longbottom,” he drawled, “come here.”

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Neville fell off. Neville got to his feet, and walked slowly over to the Mirror.

*Neville’s POV*

Neville took a deep breath to calm himself before looking into the mirror. He knew what he would see; it was what he’d hoped and prayed for ever since he could remember. His eyes met his reflection’s, pale and scared-looking at first. Then, his reflection broke out into a huge grin and was embraced on both sides by his parents. His _sane_ parents. Ones who didn’t just give him back the wrappers to the gum he gave them every time he visited. He looked happy. Neville’s eyes started to water, and he sniffed. The tears fell when he realised that there were two smaller children as well. One, the boy, had blond hair, similar to his, and the girl had hair that looked almost black, like his father’s.

“What do you see, Longbottom?” asked Quirrell coldly, not caring a bit that his question was the most insensitive thing he’d ever said.

Neville remembered why they were here, and that Harry, Draco, and Professor Snape were counting on him to prevent Quirrell from getting the Stone, but that they likely didn’t want him to get killed, either. He looked into his reflection’s eyes again, and was startled when he smiled sadly, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a blood red stone, identical to the one in Harry’s watercolour painting. The reflection put the Stone back into his pocket—and as it did so, he felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow—incredibly— _he’d got the Stone!_

“I will not repeat my question,” Quirrell snarled.

“I see… I see me surrounded by my friends. We’re all laughing. There’s this prank set up behind us.”

Quirrell cursed again. “Get out of the way!”

As Neville was pushed aside, he felt the Philosopher’s Stone against his leg. What should he do? He surreptitiously tapped one finger against his pocket, telling the others he had it.

*Back to Harry’s POV*

“He lies...He lies...” the high voice spoke again.

“How would _you_ be able to tell?” asked Harry, in a mock confused voice. “You don’t know him. You’re Voldemort, aren’t you? Show yourself, if you’re not a coward!”

Snape sucked in a breath, as did Draco and Quirrell. “Master, do not listen to him! You are not strong enough, and you need not prove—”

The high voice cut him off. “I have strength enough… for this…”

Harry knew he shouldn’t have done it, but protecting the others was the only thing he could think of now. Quirrell snapped his fingers, undoing Harry’s ropes and doing up Neville’s ropes at the same time, then reached up and started to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away, Quirrell’s head looking strangely small without it. Then, he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, he was sure of it, but for the fear and disgust that cemented Harry’s teeth together like Hagrid’s treacle fudge. Where the back of Quirrell’s head should have been, there was a face, a chalk-white face with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

“Harry Potter...” it whispered.

Suddenly Harry found the courage to speak. Maybe a little too much courage. “If you’ve been on the back of Quirrell’s head all year, then surely you know by now that my last name, by blood and magic, is Potter-Black? Honestly, Voldy, where has your memory gone?”

The people behind him gasped, and Voldemort roared and hissed, obviously wanting to move closer to the source of his anger, because Quirrell walked backwards towards him. Harry realised he had probably gone a bit too far, but stood his ground. “Don’t be a fool,” he snarled. “Better to save your own life. Maybe sacrifice some of your little friends along the way.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to snarl, and he curled up his fists, forcing himself to stay where he was. “Oh dear me… touchy, touchy,” mocked the face. “After all, you don’t want to end up like your parents… they died, begging for mercy.”

“LIAR!” Harry shouted.

“Hmm…” it hummed. “I always did value bravery… Yes, your parents were brave… I killed your father first when he wouldn’t get out of my way… he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn’t have died… she was trying to protect you… Now, get that lump of a boy to hand over the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.”

“NEVER!”

Harry sprang in front of where Neville was, trying to protect him.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Such a waste. Quirrell.”

Quirrell turned around and strode over to Harry. He grabbed Harry’s wrist, but let go almost immediately with a yell. He hunched over in pain, looking at his fingers—they were blistering like crazy.

_Of course,_ he thought _, Mother’s Protection._

“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!” shrieked Voldemort, and Quirrell tried to obey, lunging at him and knocking him to the ground. Harry felt his head smack against the ground, and he saw stars burst before his eyes. Trying to keep conscious, he did the one thing he knew would hurt Quirrell—and Voldemort—he touched Quirrell’s arms where they’d locked around Harry’s throat.

Almost immediately, Quirrell was howling in pain again, and scrambling to get off him, but Harry only hung on tighter, reaching up on instinct to Quirrell’s face—

“AAARGH!”

Quirrell finally managed to roll off him, as Harry’s consciousness dwindled, having been both exhausted by the Mother’s Protection taking effect, and probably concussed after his head had hit the hard stone floor.

Harry sunk into obliviousness, and there were colours, and light, then nothing, as the blackness took over, pulling him under.

*

He came to slowly, seeing a pink-and-white blob come into focus. He blinked, and Professor Dumbledore was there, smiling at him.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” he said.

Harry stared at him. Then, he remembered. “Sir! The Philosopher’s Stone! Quirrell was—”

“Relax, my boy, relax. Quirrell does not have the Stone.”

Harry was confused. “Then—then who does?”

“Ah, you see, Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you before he succumbed to his injuries. The effort involved nearly killed you, it drained your magical core to the extreme. For one terrible moment, when I arrived, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it was decided by both myself and my dear old friend, Nicholas Flamel, that it would be better to destroy it.”

Harry thought for a second, then settled on being as clueless as Dumbledore would no doubt expect him to be. “Is he the creator? Won’t he die then?”

“Alas, yes. He and his wife will die, but they have enough Elixir stored to set their remaining affairs in order.”

Harry lay there, as though lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little tune, and smiled at the ceiling. Then, he looked back down at Harry. “Anything else, Harry?”

“What about Draco and Neville? And Professor Snape? The twins and Hermione?”

“Again, relax. They are all fine. The twins and Hermione came across me just as I returned, and they told me what had happened. They are fine, and even attempted to send you a Hogwarts toilet seat, no doubt to cheer you up.

“As for Misters Malfoy and Longbottom, they pulled Quirrell off you after getting rid of their ropes, and they and Professor Snape brought you up here. All three of them were discharged after a day’s rest in the Hospital Wing.”

This prompted Harry to look at his surroundings for the first time. He was in a white bed, covered by white linen sheets, and next to him, was a table filled with what looked like half a sweet shop. His eyes boggled out of his sockets, but quickly got control of himself again. “How long have I been here, sir?” he asked.

“Three days.”

Harry groaned.

*

“Just five minutes?” Harry pleaded. “You let the Headmaster in…”

“You need _rest_. And the Headmaster is one thing...”

“Oh go on, Madam Pomfrey,” he wheedled, “I’m lying down. That’s resting, isn’t it?”

She huffed, but let Draco and Neville in.

“Harry!” exclaimed Draco, looking ready to fling his arms around him again. The Mediwitch coughed disapprovingly, and he stopped short, pouting. Harry giggled.

“We were so worried about you,” said Neville. “We thought you were going to—”

“Don’t say it, Nev,” said Draco. “He still might.”

Harry snorted. “Do I look like I’m dying to you?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

They both looked at him closely, and Draco looked away first, blushing a bit. “No,” they answered.

“Good. So, how’s Gryffindor?”

Groaning, they both sat down, Neville on a nearby chair, and Draco on the edge of Harry’s bed.

“Awful,” Neville complained. “Fred and George told everyone everything, truthfully for _once_ , but it’s a bit moody at the moment, Ravenclaw steamrollered us on the pitch, so we’re last for points, but at least the food at the End-of-the-Year Feast tomorrow will be good.”

Soon after, Madam Pomfrey bustled them out.

*

Surprisingly, they won the House Cup, with Dumbledore giving each of the Marauders’ Recruits points, for basically saving the school and preventing the return of Voldemort. Someone standing outside the Hogwarts gate could well have heard the explosion of cheers that erupted.

In the following days, they got their exam results back. Surprisingly, both Harry and Neville passed with brilliant marks, Ron got good marks, Hermione was only just in front of Draco, coming top of the year, and Fred and George got exactly the same mark, passing with flying colours, which, they insisted, was only because of Hermione’s study schedule. She blushed when they told her.

And suddenly, they were lining up to get into the little boats to cross the lake, their luggage already having been stowed on the Hogwarts Express. They boarded the train, and spent the hours talking and laughing about their year, watching absent-mindedly as the world around them became less wild and more civilised. Finally, they got off, and Harry was met by his godfathers. Neville’s Gran was there, and she broke into sobs when she saw him, beginning to lecture him almost immediately. Hermione waved goodbye and crossed through into the muggle world, promising to write as soon as possible. The Weasley family was gone almost as quickly, although Mrs Weasley reprimanded the twins when she found them exchanging a package of some sort with Sirius, while Remus watched on, laughing. The only one who didn’t look very happy, was Draco. Even though he knew that his mother couldn’t officially talk to him, he’d hoped she might slip away from his father to meet him. Harry noticed his sad, lost expression, and linked arms with him. “Don’t worry, Draco. You can come live with us. I have a surprise for you, anyhow. Did you know, Pads was disowned completely—burnt right off the family tree—and went to live with my dad and his parents?”

Draco shook his head. “How come he’s Lord Black now?

“He had a brother, and when his dad died, his brother decided to make him his heir.”

“It’s true, little cousin,” said Sirius, coming up behind them. “You’ll always be welcome to our home. Whaddya say?”

Draco smiled lightly, then said, “Let’s go home.”


End file.
